• 


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o-^S* 


The  Key  to  a  Nobler  Life. 

BY 

C.  E.  SARGENT.  A.  B. 

WITH  LETTER  OF  INTRODUCTION 
BY 

MRS.  LUCRETIA  R.  GARFIELD. 


ILLUST^A 


TED. 


W.  a  Ki\(r  cG  CO.,  Publishers, 

SPRINGFIELD,  MASS. 

Lewiston,  Me.  Indianapolis,  Ind. 

Columbus,  Ohio.  Minneapolis,  Minn. 

St.  Louis,  Mo. 

1883. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1883,  by 

Will.  C.  King, 

In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington,  D.  C. 


May  peace  be  in  thy  home  and  joy  within  thy  heart. 


M* 


PREFACE. 


)|HE  reader  will  notice  that  we  have  confined 
ourselves  in  the  treatment  of  this  work  almost 
exclusively  to  what  is  termed  the  "scientific 
method."  We  have  not  only  regarded  home 
itself  as  an  institution  of  nature,  but  in  t lie 
treatment  of  almost  every  subject  we  have 
tried  to  involve  the  exposition  of  some  related 
natural  law,  because  every  relation  of  the 
home  life  is  the  outgrowth  of  some  law  of 
our  nature  or  of  our  surroundings.  It  has  been 
our  aim  to  make  this  book  a  scientific  treatise  on  the  vari- 
ous phases  of  the  home,  and  in  this  respect,  so  far  as  we 
know,  it  stands  alone. 

We  have  chosen  to  consider  the  various  relations  of  the 
home  life  from  this  standpoint,  from  a  conviction  that  so- 
cittv  has  come  to  need  something  more  substantial  than 
those  mere  expressions  of  sentiment,  which,  for  the  most 
part,  constitute  the  books  of  this  kind  that  heretofore  have 
been  given  to  the  public.  Many  very  entertaining  books, 
however,  have  thus  been  produced,  but  the  undisputed  fact 
that  all  the  while  the  old-time  home  love  has  been  slowly 
but  surely  fading  away,  is  sufficient  proof  that  they  have  not 


iv  PREFACE. 

accomplished  the  object  for  which  they  were  written.  It 
is  true  that  the  word  "  home  "  is  one  of  the  most  poetic 
in  human  language,  that  the  institution  of  home  itself  owes 
its  origin  to  an  innate  sentiment,  and  that  this  emotion 
like  all  others  grows  and  develops  by  its  own  action, 
so  that  such  expressions  of  sentiment  have  their  use ;  and 
the  great  number  of  those  beautiful  prose  poems,  that  dur- 
ing the  past  few  years  have  been  offered  to  the  public, 
show  how  deep  and  insatiable  is  this  home  sentiment.  Yet 
in  spite  of  all  this,  the  street  and  the  public  hall  are  usurp- 
ing the  kingdom  of  the  fireside,  and  the  dark  monster  of 
Communism  is  creeping  upon  us.  The  restoration  and  pres- 
ervation of  the  old  home  love  and  reverence  by  a  more  ra- 
tional and  scientific  conception  of  the  home  relations,  we 
believe,  is  all  that  can  save  society  from  wreck. 

The  home  life  is  to  the  social  life  what  the  unvarying 
movement  of  the  water  wheel  is  to  the  clashing  and  discord- 
ant motion  of  the  great  factory.  When  the  machinery  stops 
or  moves  fitfully  and  unreliably  the  experienced  machinist 
does  not  think,  by  merely  lubricating  the  bearings,  to  re- 
move the  difficulty,  but  with  lantern  and  wrench  and  ham- 
mer descends  into  the  pit  to  see  what  ails  the  M  great  wheel." 

There  are  certain  diseases  whose  symptoms  are  chiefly  or 
wholly  local,  but  which,  nevertheless,  must  be  cured  by 
constitutional  remedies.  Such  is  the  character  of  most  of 
those  moral  diseases  that  affect  human  society,  and  the 
remedies  we  have  tried  to  point  out  are  constitutional  rem- 


PREFACE.  v 

edies.  The  one  organ  we  have  aimed  to  reach  is  that 
which  is  the  most  central  and  vital  of  any  in  the  living 
body  of  society — the  home. 

Society  is  agitated  to-day  over  the  startling  problem  of 
divorce,  and  yet,  with  all  its  attendant  evils,  divorce  must 
be  regarded  only  as  a  symptom  of  a  fatal  disease  that  is 
preying  on  the  vitals  of  society.  Intemperance  and  licen- 
tiousness are  symptoms  of  diseases  that  can  be  reached 
only  through  the  organ  of  home. 

What  the  home  is,  society  will  be.  The  moral  corrup- 
tion and  the  dark  vices  of  the  city  would  perish  in  a  single 
night  did  not  their  cancerous  rootlets  reach  down  into  the 
foulness  of  perverted  homes. 

Still,  what  a  worlfl  would  this  be  were  it  not  for  the  in- 
stitution of  home!  How  would  the  streets  of  the  great 
city  be  turbulent  with  lawless  outcries  at  midnight  did  not 
the  Great  Father,  through  the  kindly  shepherd  of  a  natural 
law,  send  his  children  at  night,  to  the  fold  of  home !  How 
its  divine  protection  hovers  over  the  slow-breathing  multi- 
tude like  the  shadow  of  a  great  wing ! 

This  book  is  the  product  of  one  not  hoary  with  experi- 
ence, but  of  one  who  has  tasted  a  little  of  the  bitter  water, 
and  who  has  written  from  the  depths  of  conviction.  We 
hope  that  the  public  and  the  critics  will  receive  his  effort 
with  feelings  as  kindly  as  those  with  which  it  is  offered,  and 
he  will  feel  that  from  his  soul  a  burden  has  been  lifted. 

S. 


CONTENTS. 


Page. 

Preface, iii 

Introduction,       xi 

CHAPTER    I. 

The  Nature  of  Home 15 

CHAPTER    II. 

Influences  of  Home,       27 

CHAPTER    III. 

Buds  of  Promise, 35 

CHAPTER   IV. 

Childhood,       42 

CHAPTER   V. 

Home  Training,       49 

CHAPTER  VI. 

Rewards  and  Punishments, 73 

chapter  vn. 
Amusements  for  the  Home, 81 

CHAPTER  viii. 

Home  Smiles, 91 


COXTENTS.  vii 

Page. 

<  iiaktkk    ix. 

Joys  of  Home, ,    .    .    .    .        97 

I  11  aitim:    \. 

Education  of  Our  Girls, 105 

«   IIAKTKK     XI. 

Education  of  Our  Boys 119 

CHAlTKi:   xii. 

Books  for  the  Home, 127 

<   IIAI'IKK     Mil. 
KVKNINCS    AT    IIo.Mi: 135 

I    IIAI'IKK     XIV. 

Si  if  Culture,      .  » 145 

CELL] 

Sundays  at  Home,       159 

CBAPTSB    xvi. 

Resolutions  and  Individual  Rules  of  Life,    .      109 

I    HAITI. K     XVIK 

Correspondence  and  Forms, 175 

(    IIAKTKK     XVIII. 

Manners  at  Home,       193 

CHAPTER    XIX. 

Family  Secrets,       213 

OHAPTSB  XX. 

I)  r  ties  of  Home, 


viii  CONTENTS. 

Page. 
CHAPTER    XXI. 

Contentment  at  Home, 231 

CHAPTER    XXII. 

Visiting,       237 

CHAPTER   XXIII. 

Unselfishness  at  Home, 246 

CHAPTER    XXIV. 

Patience, 252 

CHAPTER    XXV. 

Temperance, 261 

CHAPTER   XXVI. 

Economy  of  Home, 272 

CHAPTER   XXVII. 

Home  Adornments,       285 

CHAPTER   XXVIII. 

Dignity  at  Home, 291 

CHAPTER    XXIX. 

Success  or  Failure  Foreshadowed  at  Home,      297 

CHAPTER   XXX. 

Fallacies  about  Genius, 306 

CHAPTER    XXXI. 

Courage  to  Meet  Life's  Duties, 317 

CHAPTER    XXXII. 

The  Important  Step,       324 


CONTENTS.  ix 

Page. 
CHAPTER   XXXIII. 

Leaving  Home, 338 

CHAPTER   XXXIV. 

Memories  of  Home, 347 

CHAPTER   XX 

Tbials  of  Home, 352 

|  BAFTBI   xxw  i. 

Sorrow  and  its  Meaning,       359 

CHAPTER   XXXVII. 

Tin-:  Widow's  Home, 371 

<  HAPTER   XXXVIII. 

Homeless  Orphans, 37tJ 

< HAPTER    XX 
II(»MES   OF   THE   POOR, 383 

«  II  AFTER   XL. 

Homes  of  the  Rich, 390 

CHAPTER   XLI. 

Tin:  Old-Fashioned  Home, 401 

OH  AFTER    XLI  I. 

On:  Last  Farewell  of  Home, 412 

CHAPTER    XLI  1 1. 

Heaven  Our  Home, 421 


PUBLISHERS'   NOTICE. 


Springfield,  Mass.,  July  2,  1883. 

O  THE  READER : 

Perhaps  a  word  from  the  publishers  of 
this  volume  would  be  appropriate  right  here. 
Since  the  date  of  the  following  introduction 
our  author  has  graduated  from  college  with 
high  honors,  and  truly  can  we  say  that  rarely 
does  any  institution  of  learning  bestow  its 
diploma  upon  one  whose  faculties  are  so 
broadly  developed,  or  who  has  been  more  earnest  in  prep- 
aration for  a  life  work  in  the  service  of  mankind.  Believ- 
ing that  the  ministry  of  the  following  pages  will  ennoble 
the  heart,  purify  the  mind  and  elevate  that  sacred  spot 
around  which  cluster  our  joys  and  our  woes,  we  are 

Most  sincerely  yours, 

W.  C.  KING  &  CO. 


S*S 


THE    FOLLOWING 

LETTER    OF    INTRODUCTION 

WAS  ADDRESSED  TO 

Rev.  0.  B.  Cheney,  D.  D.,  Pres.  of  Bates  College,  Me. 


zrfte^  fc&c   &£&/  0jtc   a^a£t^^ 


far**-    *#  /' 


's~*r    £c^C    /U^^ 


&*.    c/Z^?^~£>    /^^~~£  **~**«**. 


AN'S  life's  a  book  of  history; 
The  leaves  thereof  are  days ; 
The  letters,  mercies  closely  joined  ; 
The  title  is  God's  praise. 

MASON. 


THE   NATURE  OF  HOME. 


UR  home  is  the  one  spot  on  earth  where  is 
concentrated  the  largest  per  cent,  of  our 
earthly  interest.  There  are  few  human  be- 
ings without  a  home  or  the  memory  of  one. 
The  vast  multitude  that  surges  through  the 
streets  of  the  great  city  is  made  up  of  indi- 
vidual souls,  each  of  which  to-night  will  seek 
some  place  it  calls  home.  There  are  those 
who  roll  through*  the  streets  with  golden 
y  to  palaces  where  brilliant  lights  and 
gorgeous  tapestry  and  plushy  carpets  await 
their  coming. 

There  are  those  who  walk  the  frosty  pave- 
ment with  cold  and  bleeding  feet,  whose 
homes  are  in  damp  and  dreary  cellars,  or  in 
the  rickety  garrets  of  vrorn  and  wretched 
hovels.  No  lights,  no  music,  no  feasts  await 
tin  in,  nothing  but  a  crust  and  a  bed  of 
straw.  And  yet  these  places  in  all  their 
I  wretchedness  are  the  homes  of  human  beings. 

There  is  still  another  class  of  homes,  where  has  been 
Answered  the  human  heart's  best  prayer,  "give  us  neither 


16  OUR  HOME. 

poverty  nor  riches ; "  where  peace  and  joy  and  love  and 
contentment  dwell;  where  industry  and  frugality,  with 
sunbrown  hands  and  healthful  appetite,  sit  at  the  board  of 
plenty.  But  whether  the  home  be  a  palace,  a  cottage,  or 
a  garret,  it  is  home. 

Home  is  in  the  soul  itself;  and,  to  a  certain  extent,  is 
independent  of  outward  circumstances.  Of  this  inward 
home  the  outward  is  but  the  expression  ;  and  yet  it  is  doubt- 
ful if  the  outward  is  ever  a  true  expression  of  the  inward, 
inasmuch  as  men's  ideals  always  transcend  their  experience. 
Neither  the  wretched  hovel  where  vice  and  hunger  dwell, 
nor  the  palace  where  lies  the  gilded  corpse  of  love  can  be 
a  true  home. 

"  Home  is  the  resort 
Of  love,  of  joy,  of  peace  and  plenty,  where 
Supporting  and  supported,  polished  friends 
And  dear  relations  mingle  into  bliss." 

Next  to  religion,  the  home  sentiment  is  the  strongest  in 
the  human  heart.  At  the  name  of  home  the  better  impulse 
of  every  heart  awakens.  As  the  chord  of  the  instrument 
is  dead  to  every  sound  until  its  own  harmonic  chord  is 
struck,  when  it  vibrates  and  taking  up  the  sound  prolongs 
it  as  if  it  could  not  let  it  die,  so  many  a  darkened  mind  is 
dead  to  every  appeal  save  that  magic  sound,  "  home  ! "  The 
lives  of  thousands  who  have  been  snatched  as  brands  from 
temptation's  fire  will  testify  to  the  magic  power  of  a  sister's 
early  love,  while  the  sudden  remembrance  of  a  mother's 
"good  night  kiss"  has  stayed  the  assassin's  dagger.     In 


THE  NATURE  OF  HOME.  17 

the  dark  and  loathsome  dens  of  iniquity  there  are  those 
whose  lips  have,  for  years,  acknowledged  their  Creator  only 
in  oaths ;  whose  eyes  have  shed  no  tears,  and  whose  ears 
have  heard  only  the  blasphemies  of  drunken  revelry. 
And  yet  could  an  unseen  hand  write  upon  those  walls  the 
words  "Home"  and  "Mother's  Love,"  lips  would  quiver, 
eyes  would  swim,  and  from  the  depths  of  many  a  soul  in 
which  the  germs  of  truth  and  love  had  long  since  seemed 
dead,  would  burst  the  heart-rending  confession, — 

"  One©  I  was  pore  as  the  snow,  bat  I  fell, 
Fell  like  a  snow-flake  from  heaven  to  hell, 
Fell  to  be  trampled  as  filth  of  the  street, 
Fell  to  be  scoffed  at,  be  spit  on  and  beat; 
Pleading,  cursing,  begging  to  die, 
Selling  my  soul  to  whoever  would  buy; 
Dealing  in  shame  for  a  morsel  of  bread, 
Hating  the  living  and  fearing  the  dead." 

The  powerful  influence  which  the  home  sentiment 
exerts  over  the  minds  of  men  was  shown  in  a  striking 
manner  a  few  years  ago  at  Castle  Garden,  New  York. 
Some  ten  thousand  people  had  gathered  there  to  listen  to 
that  sweet-voiced  singer,  Jenny  Lind.  She  began  with 
the  sublime  compositions  of  the  great  masters  of  song. 
Her  audience  applauded  her  with  a  respectful  degree  of 
appreciation.  But  at  length,  with  sweetness  ineffable, 
born  of  the  holy  parentage  of  genius  and  passion,  she 
poured  forth  that  immortal  song,  "Home,  Sweet  Home." 
At  once  the  irrepressible  contagion  of  sympathy  spread 
through  that  vast  audience.     Peal  on  peal  of  thunderous 

2 


18  OUR  HOME, 

applause  resounded,  until  the  song  was  stopped  by  the 
very  ecstasy  of  those  who  listened;  and  when  the  soft 
refrain  was  heard  again,  that  mass  of  humanity  was 
melted  into  tears;  the  great  masters  were  all  forgotten, 
while  ten  thousand  human  hearts  knelt  at  the  shrine  of 
a  poor  and  obscure  outcast.  Why  was  this?  Was  Howard 
Payne  a  greater  genius  than  they?  Must  these  mighty 
names  yield  their  places  to  one  whom  the  world  has  for- 
gotten ?  No  ;  it  was  simply  because  when  sorrow  laid  his 
iron  hand  on  the  heart  of  Howard  Payne,  in  his  cruel 
grasp  he  chanced  to  strike  that  chord  which  vibrates  to  a 
lighter  touch  than  any  in  the  human  heart  save  that  alone 
swept  by  the  master's  hand. 

"  Home  of  our  childhood!  how  affection  clings 
And  hovers  'round  thee  with  her  seraph  wings! 
Dearer  thy  hills,  though  clad  in  autumn  brown, 
Than  fairest  summits  which  the  cedars  crown." 

The  rough  experiences  of  the  roaring,  toiling,  stormy 
world,  may  blot  out  all  other  images  from  the  mind,  but 
the  picture  of  our  early  home  must  hang  forever  on  the 
walls  of  memory,  until  "the  silver  cord  be  loosed  or  the 
golden  bowl  be  broken." 

The  old  man  may  not  recall  all  the  experiences,  all  the 
struggles  and  triumphs  of  his  early  manhood ;  but  every 
feature  of  his  childhood  home,  every  little  play-house  that 
he  helped  his  sister  build,  is  photographed  upon  his  heart's 
tablet  and  can  never  fade  away.  Perchance  the  golden 
light  of  eternity  will  not  dim  the  brightness  of  that  pic- 


THE  NATURE  OF  HOME.  19 

ture.  Whatever  else  the  heart  may  forget,  it  cannot  for- 
get the  place  of  its  birth;  it  cannot  forget  the  little 
broken  cart,  the  sled  and  the  kite,  the  sister's  fond  caress, 
the  brother's  generous  aid,  the  father's  loving  counsel,  and 
the  mother's  anxious  prayer. 

It  cannot  forget  the  clay  when  a  chastening  hand  drew 
still  closer  the  chords  of  love  and  bound  the  little  circle 
in  a  common  sorrow ;  the  day  when  hushed  footsteps  were 
in  the  house,  and  the  silent  rooms  were  filled  with  the 
odor  of  flowers,  and  the  garden  gate  swung  outward  to  let 
a  little  casket  through. 

"  That  hallowed  word  is  ne'er  forgot, 
No  matter  where  we  roam ; 
The  purest  feelings  of  the  heart 
Still  cluster  'round  our  home. 

"  Dear  resting  place  where  weary  thought 
May  dream  away  its  care, 
Love's  gentle  star  unveils  its  light 
And  shines  in  beauty  there." 

But  the  ministry  of  home  consists  not  alone  in  its  fond 
memories  and  hallowed  associations.  It  is  the  great  con- 
servator of  good,  the  "seeding  place  of  virtue."  It  is 
the  origin  of  afcLcivilization.  The  laws  of  a  nation  are  but 
rescripts  of  its  domestic  codes.  The  words  uttered  and 
the  doctrines  taught  around  the  fireside  are  the  influences 
that  shape  the  destinies  of  empires. 

It  is  the  influences  of  home  that  live  in  the  life  of  king- 
doms, while  parental  counsel  repeats  itself  in  the  voices  of 
republics.     We  would   impress   upon    the   minds   of  our 


20  OUR  HOME. 

readers  this  grand  truth,  and  would  that  we  might 
thunder  it  into  the  ears  of  all  mankind,  that  a  nation  is 
but  a  magnified  home.  Parliament  and  Congress  are  but 
hearthstones  on  a  grander  scale.  Those  great  and  noble 
characters  who  have  left  a  deathless  impress  upon  the  his- 
tory of  nations  were  not  fashioned  on  battle  fields,  but  in 
the  cradle  and  at  the  fireside.  They  are  those,  moreover, 
who  at  every  period  of  life,  at  every  turn  of  fortune  or  ad- 
versity, have  never  forgotten  the  old  home. 

A  mother  breathes,  under  the  canopy  of  a  cradle,  a 
prayer  that  her  darling  boy  may  be  a  conqueror  in  life's 
battle  ;  that  the  hosts  of  sin  may  flee  before  the  sword  of 
his  manly  virtue,  and  from  that  cradle  there  arises  a  youth 
with  that  same  prayer  upon  his  lips,  and  in  virtue's  coat 
of  mail  he  goes  forth  to  battle.  Harmless  as  the  fall  of 
snow-flakes,  from  his  helmet  drop  the  broken  arrows  of 
temptation's  besieging  armies.  Fearlessly  he  marches 
through  the  dismal  swamps  of  poverty  and  hunger  and 
cold.  With  sweating  brow  he  toils  up  the  rugged  steep 
of  knowledge, 

Till  full  upon  his  vision  gleams 
The  prophecy  of  early  dreams. 

Humble  and  modest  as  a  maiden  he  receives  a  nation's 
benediction  with  its  crown.  And  when  death's  untimely 
visit  drops  the  veil  over  life's  grandest  triumph,  fifty  mil- 
lion human  hearts  bow  in  the  dust  before  the  sable  ban- 
ners of  a  nation's  sorrow. 


THE  NATURE  OF  HOME.  21 

When,  think  you,  were  fashioned  the  pillars  of  that 
colossal  character?  Did  they  spring  up  to  meet  the  emer- 
gencies of  fame  and  power  ?  No !  they  were  sculptured  in 
the  sacred  quarry  of  the  cradle  with  that  chisel  which 
only  a  mother's  hand  can  wield.  When  we  stand  in  the 
presence  of  art's  grandest  achievements  we  feel  like  bow- 
ing before  that  genius  which  can  take  from  the  hand  of 
nature  a  block  of  marble  and  hew  away  the  chips  that 
hide  a  waiting  angel.  But  the  mother  of  Garfield  took 
from  the  hand  of  God  the  unformed  elements  of  a  human 
character  and  shaped  them  into  something  it  were  blas- 
phemy to  compare  with  the  proudest  creation  that  ever 
leaped  from  the  brain  of  genius — a  God-like  man. 

"  O  wondrous  power!  how  little  understood! 
Entrusted  to  a  mother's  mind  alone, — 
To  fashion  genius  from  the  soul  for  good." 

No  argument  is  necessary  to  convince  us  of  the  potency 
of  home  influence  in  shaping  character.  There  are  cer- 
tain truths  to  which  it  is  only  necessary  to  call  attention, 
and  minds  instinctively  assent  to  them,  and  to  this  class, 
we  believe,  h^Jong  those  general  truths  concerning  home 
which  we  have  mentioned.  Indeed,  they  are  recognized 
and  taught  in  the  trite  maxims  of  every-day  life.  Napo- 
leon understood  well  the  nature  of  home  and  its  mission 
when  he  said,  "The  great  need  of  France  is  mothers." 
An  old  Scotch  proverb  says,  "An  ounce  of  mother  is 
worth  a  pound  of  clergy."  Mohammed  said,  "  Paradise  is 
at  the  feet  of  mothers." 


ft  OUR  HOME. 

Might  not  some  American  statesman  say,  "  The  throne 
of  freedom's  goddess  is  the  hearthstone  "?  Our  government 
is  a  grand  experiment.  Its  ship  is  on  an  unknown  sea  and 
sails  through  unsounded  waters.  It  is  true  that  other 
governments  have  styled  themselves  republics,  but  with 
all  of  them  there  have  been  reservations  that  have  made 
them  republics  only  in  name.  Ours  is  the  first  experiment 
with  a  true  republic.  If  we  fail  in  this  experiment,  if  our 
government  falls,  the  world  will  hear  the  echo  of  that  fa.ll 
till  the  end  of  time  as  a  dismal,  warning  sound.  The  vic- 
torious shout  of  error  is  the  most  dangerous  sound  that 
can  fall  upon  the  human  ear.  Rest  assured  that  our 
government  is  no  trifle.  That  ever  restless  spirit  of 
liberty  that  to-day  confronts  the  troubled  principalities  of 
Europe,  is  looking  anxiously  to  the  issue  of  our  experi- 
ment.    Mothers  and  fathers,  that  issue  rests  with  you. 

Your  boys  are  soon  to  take  the  reins  of  this  high  met- 
tled steed,  America.  A  nation's  only  hope  is  in  them,  and 
their  only  hope  is  in  you ;  and  the  instruments  which  God 
has  put  into  your  hands  with  which  to  fit  them  for  this 
high  office,  are  the  influences  of  home.  You  to-day  are 
writing  on  the  yielding  tablets  of  their  hearts  and  minds 
the  preface  to  the  next  volume  of  our  nation's  history. 
America  should  fear  the  disloyalty  and  contention  of  the 
fireside  more  than  the  nefarious  plots  of  scheming  politi- 
cians. 

If  your  boys  wrangle  and  contend  at  home,  if  they  can- 


THE  NATURE  OF  HOME.  23 

not  discuss  with  dignity  the  little  questions  that  arise  in 
their  daily  intercourse  with  one  another,  be  sure  they  will 
not  honor  the  nation  when  they  take  their  places  in  senate 
halls  to  discuss  the  great  problems  that  confront  the  civil- 
ization of  the  nineteenth  century. 

Now,  if  home  may  be  so  powerful  an  influence  for  good, 
how  important  becomes  the  cultivation  of  the  home  senti- 
ment. To  be  destitute  of  this  sentiment  is  almost  as  great 
I  misfortune  as  to  be  destitute  of  the  religious  sentiment. 
Indeed,  we  believe  that  one  cannot  possess  a  true  and  ex- 
alted love  of  home  while  there  is  wanting  in  his  character 
that  which  when  awakened  may  yield  the  fruit  of  a  godly 
life.  What  a  mighty  responsibflity  rests  upon  him  who 
essays  to  make  a  home,  for  the  founding  of  a  home  is  as 
sacred  a  work  as  the  founding  of  a  church.  Indeed,  every 
home  should  be  a  temple  dedicated  to  divine  worship, 
where  human  beings  through  life  should  worship  God 
through  the  service  of  mutual  love — the  highest  tribute 
man  can  pay  to  the  divine. 

If  the  home  sentiment  be  one  of  the  strongest  passions 
of  the  humafr*soul  it  was  made  such  for  a  wise  purpose. 
The  affections  of  the  heart  all  have  their  corresponding 
outward  objects.  We  possess  no  power  impelling  us  to 
love  or  desire  that  which  does  not  exist  as  a  genuine  insti- 
tution and  necessity  of  nature.  So  this  strong  home  senti- 
ment only  proves  to  us  that  the  institution  of  home  was 
divinely   born.     It   is   based   in  the   very  constitution  of 


24  OUR  HOME. 

human  nature,  and  so  vital  is  the  relation  which  it  sus- 
tains to  our  needs,  that  every  heart  must  have  a  home.  It 
may  not  be  of  brick  or  wood  or  stone.  It  may  not  have  a 
14  local  habitation  and  a  name."  But  if  not,  out  of  the  airy 
timbers  of  its  own  fancy  the  heart  will  rear  the  structure 
which  it  demands  as  a  necessity  of  its  being.  We  are 
aware  that  there  are  thousands  who  are  called  homeless ; 
but  their  hearts'  demand  is  at  least  partially  met  by  the 
possession  of  an  ideal  home.  The  body  may  exist  without 
a  home,  but  the  heart,  never.  The  world  called  Howard 
Payne  a  homeless  wanderer,  yet  kings  and  peasants  have 
implored  entrance  at  the  vine-wreathed  threshold  of  that 
home  which  he  reared  in  the  airy  dreamland  of  poesy. 

Another  evidence  of  the  divine  origin  of  the  institution 
of  home  is  found  in  its  obvious  adaptation  to  the  end  it 
serves,  and  in  the  striking  analogies  which  we  detect  be- 
tween its  functions  and  the  general  methods  of  nature. 

Every  growth  in  nature  is  nurtured  and  sustained 
through  its  early  existence  by  a  pre-existing  guardian. 
The  germ  of  the  oak  is  nourished  and  protected  by  the 
substance  of  the  acorn  until  it  is  strong  enough  to  draw 
its  food  directly  from  the  earth,  and  to  withstand  the  tem- 
pest and  the  scorching  sun.  So  it  must  be  with  the  germ 
of  that  oak  which  is  to  wave  in  the  forest  of  human  soci- 
ety. And  if  we  wish  it  to  become  a  grand  and  noble  oak, 
and  not  a  hollow  hearted  deformity,  we  should  look  well 
to  the  protection  and  nourishment  of  its  early  years.     We 


THE  NATURE  OF  HOME.  25 

should  see  that  there  is  the  proper  spiritual  soil  from 
which  the  little  human  germ  may  gather  wholesome  and 
strengthening  food  when  it  puts  forth  its  tender  rootlets 
into  the  great  world  without.  The  relation  which  the 
acorn  sustains  to  the  germ  is  precisely  that-  which  the 
home  sustains  to  the  child.  If  we  were  to  suppose  the 
germ  endowed  with  intelligence,  we  should  still  suppose  it 
ignorant  of  everything  but  the  environments  of  the  acorn. 
It  would,  of  course,  be  all  unconscious  that  there  is  a 
world  without  full  not  only  of  germs  like  itself,  but  of 
giant  oaks.  So  the  child  is  ignorant  of  the  great  outward 
world.  The  home  is  its  little  world  and  it  knows  no 
other.  • 

Precious  thought,  that  it  never  quite  outgrows  the  bliss- 
ful ignorance !  We  take  on  higher  and  broader  views  of 
life,  but  we  are  compelled  by  a  law  of  our  being  to  look 
forever  upon  our  home  as  in  some  way  the  grand  center 
from  which  radiate  all  other  interests. 

When  the  mother  shades  the  windows  of  the  nursery, 
she  but  unconsciously  imitates  the  Creator  of  her  child, 
who  through  flbe  institution  of  home  has  shut  from  his 
feeble  and  nascent  mind  the  flashing  colors  of  the  too  bril- 
liant world. 

But  not  alone  for  childhood  is  the  sacred  ministry  of 
home.  It  is  the  guardian  of  youth,  a  consolation  amid 
the  weary  toils  of  manhood  and  a  resting  place  for  old  age, 
where  he,  who  is  soon  to  lay  off  the  armor,  may  find  lov- 


2C>  OUR  HOME. 

ing  hearts  and  tender  hands  to  guide  his  tottering  steps  to 
the  water's  edge. 

Again,  the  mature  mind  is  only  that  of  a  developed  in- 
fant. It  is  still  infantile  with  reference  to  the  universe  in 
its  entirety.  Nor  can  it  ever  fully  comprehend  the  signifi- 
cance of  life  in  the  aggregate.  Were  we  to  attempt  to 
dwell  in  the  great  temples  of  the  world,  we  should  become 
lost  in  its  vast  halls  and  mighty  labyrinths.  Hence  it  be- 
comes necessary  to  reduce  the  scale  of  the  world ;  to  iso- 
late the  human  mind,  as  it  were,  from  the  vastness  of  ag- 
gregate life.  And  this  God  has  done  in  the  institution  of 
home. 

"  Home  's  not  merely  four  square  walls, 

Though  with  pictures  hung  and  gilded: 
Home  is  where  affection  calls, 

Filled  with  shrines  the  heart  hath  builded! 
Home!  go  watch  the  faithful  dove, 

Sailing  'neath  the  heaven  above  us; 
Home  is  where  there  's  one  to  love! 

Home  is  where  there 's  one  to  love  us! 

"  Home  's  not  merely  roof  and  room, 

It  needs  something  to  endear  it; 
Home  is  where  the  heart  can  bloom, 

Where  there  's  some  kind  lip  to  cheer  it! 
What  is  home  with  none  to  meet, 

None  to  welcome,  none  to  greet  us  ? 
Home  is  sweet,— and  only  sweet,— 

Where  there  's  one  we  love  to  meet  us!  " 


INFLUENCES   OF   HOME. 


T  is  a  law  of  all  initiate  life  that  it  is  suscept- 
ible to  outward  and  formative  influences  in 
an  inverse  ratio  to  its  age.  An  ear  of  corn 
while  it  is  yet  green  may  have  an  entire  row 
of  its  kernels  removed,  and  when  it  becomes 
it  will  show  no  lmyks  of  this  piece  of 
table  surgery.  So  the  young  child  may 
have  many  a  vice  removed  while  he  remains 
as  plastic  clay  in  the  hands  of  those  whose 
privilege  it  is  to  mold  the  character  for 
eternity,  and  when  he  is  old  he  will  show  no 
marks  of  the  cruel  knife  of  discipline  and  de- 
nial through  which  the  change  was  wrought. 
But  if  he  becomes^gld  before  the  work  is  begun  the  scar 
will  always  remain,  even  if  the  experiment  succeeds.  A 
bad  temper  in  a  young  child  may  be  sweetened,  but  the 
acid  temper  of  an  old  man  reluctantly  unites  with  any 
sweetening  influences. 

We  find  here  a  striking  analogy  to  a  physical  law  of  our 
being.  It  is  a  well  known  fact  that  in  early  childhood  the 
osseous   tissues   of  the  body   are  soft  and  flexible.     The 


28  OUR  HOME. 

bones  may  be  almost  doubled  upon  themselves  without 
breaking,  but  in  the  old  the  bones  are  so  hard  and  brittle 
that  they  cannot  be  bent  the  least  without  breaking.  We 
can  make  little  or  no  impression  upon  them.  They  stub- 
bornly refuse  to  respond  to  all  influences.  Surely  it  is 
true  of  the  body,  "  As  the  twig  is  bent  the  tree  's  in- 
clined." But  it  is  no  less  true  of  the  mind  and  soul.  The 
disposition  of  an  animal  may  be  made  just  what  we  choose 
to  make  it  by  our  treatment  of  it  when  young. 

Who  does  not  know  that  the  disposition  of  the  dog  is 
almost  wholly  dependent  on  the  manner  in  which  the 
puppy  is  treated?  This  principle  is  recognized  in  the  old 
adage,  "  It  is  hard  to  teach  an  old  dog  new  tricks." 

Whatever  may  be  our  views  concerning  the  moral  and 
spiritual  relations  of  the  human  to  the  brute  creation,  it 
cannot  be  denied  that  the  laws  which  govern  the  mental 
life  of  each  are  essentially  the  same.  The  difference  is  in 
quantity  rather  than  quality. 

What  a  grand  virtue  is  patience !  How  charming  in 
childhood !  How  sublime  in  manhood  !  Then  let  us  learn 
a  lesson  from  the  ease  with  which  patience  is  created  or 
destroyed  at  will  in  the  young  animal. 

The  susceptibility  of  children  to  outward  influences  is 
largely  due  to  their  power  of  imitation,  and  this  power 
was,  doubtless,  given  them  for  a  wise  purpose. 

Originality  is  not  a  virtue  of  infancy  and  childhood. 
Hence,  if  we  would  influence  the  acts  of  a  child  we  should 


INFLUENCES  OF  HOME.  29 

set  him  an  example,  we  should  act  as  we  wish  him  to  act. 
Patient  children  are  never  reared  by  impatient  parents. 

Most  of  the  crime  and  misery  of  the  world  are  due  to 
the  early  influences  of  home.  We  may  not  be  aware  how 
small  an  influence  may  work  the  ruin  of  a  child  when  he 
has  inherited  slightly  vicious  tendencies.  By  nature  the 
disposition  of  a  child  is  the  sweetest  thing  in  the  world, 
and  how  beautiful,  tender  and  sweet  might  become  the 
lives  of  all  if  parents  were  conscious  of  these  truths,  and 
would  act  according  to  their  knowledge.  But  they  so 
often  contaminate  the  sweet  springs  of  childhood  with  the 
bitterness  of  their  own  lives,  that  we  dp  not  wonder  that 
the  old  theologians  so  strongly  believed  in  total  depravity 
and  innate  sinfulness. 

Infancy  is  neither  vicious  nor  virtuous;  it  is  simply 
innocent,  and  is  susceptible  alike  to  good  and  bad  influ- 
ences. 

Its  safety  consists  alone  in  the  watchfulness  of  its 
guardians.  The  soldier  has  his  hours  of  duty,  but  the  par- 
ent in  whose  handsets  entrusted  the  guardianship  of  an 
immortal  soul  is  never  off  duty.  When  the  baby  is  asleep 
all  the  household  move  softly  lest  they  awake  him ;  but 
when  he  is  awake  they  should  move  and  think  and  speak 
more  softly  lest  they  awaken  in  him  that  which  no  nursery 
song  can  lull  to  sleep  again. 

The  young  child  is  an  apt  student  of  human  nature. 
You  do   not  deceive    him   as  you  perhaps  think.     The 


30  OUR  HOME. 

knowledge  of  human  nature,  of  the  motives  that  impel  us 
to  actions,  comes  not  from  reason  nor  from  observation. 
It  is  an  intuitive  knowledge  and  is  always  keen  in  the 
child.  It  acts,  too,  with  far  greater  vigor  between  the 
child  and  parent,  especially  the  mother,  than  between  the 
child  and  others.  Every  look  of  the  mother's  eye  is  inter- 
preted by  her  child  with  far  greater  accuracy  than  the 
most  profound  student  of  the  anatomy  of  expression  could 
interpret  it. 

The  sharpest  merchant  may  not  detect  the  sign  of  dis- 
honesty in  the  father's  face  so  quickly  as  the  child. 

Parents,  your  child  is  the  blank  paper  on  which  is  to  be 
written  the  record  of  your  own  lives.  Be  careful  then 
what  you  allow  to  be  written  there,  for  the  world  will  read 
it.  Do  you  not  see  that  through  this  principle  by  which 
you  are  instinctively  en  rapport  with  your  child,  an  awful 
responsibility  is  thrown  upon  you?  The  secrets  of  your 
inmost  soul  are  the  copy  which  the  trembling  hand  of  your 
child  is  trying  to  write. 

The  word  influence  is  the  most  incomprehensible,  the 
most  vast  and  far  reaching  in  its  significance,  of  all  words. 
We  seldom  use  it  in  any  but  a  literal  sense,  but  in  every 
degree  of  its  true  meaning  there  is  the  shadow  of  infinity. 

Philosophers  tell  us,  not  in  jest,  but  in  the  profoundest 
earnest,  that  every  footfall  on  the  pavement  jars  the  sun, 
and  every  pebble  dropped  into  the  ocean  moves  the  conti- 
nents with  vibrations  that  never  cease.     Your  hand  gives 


INFLUENCES  OF  HOME.  31 

motion  to  a  pendulum,  and  in  that  act  you  have  produced 
an  effect  which  shall  endure  through  eternity.  The  vibra- 
tion of  the  pendulum  as  a  mass  ceases,  but  only  because 
its  motion  has  been  transformed  from  mass  motion  to 
molecular  motion.  Had  it  been  suspended  in  a  vacuum 
and  been  made  to  swing  without  friction  at  the  point  of 
suspension,  it  would  have  vibrated  on  forever,  but  the  fric- 
tion which  is  inevitable,  and  the  resistance  of  the  air  grad- 
ually bring  it  to  rest,  and  we  say  the  motion  has  ceased, 
but  this  is  not-  true.  The  motion  has  not  ceased,  it  has 
simply  become  invisible.  At  every  vibration  a  part  of  the 
motion  was  changed  at  the  point  of  suspension  and  in  the 
air  into  the  invisible  undulations  of  heat  and  electricity. 
A  moment  ago  the  pendulum  was  swinging,  but  now 
infinitely  small  atoms  are  swinging  in  its  stead,  and  the 
aggregate  motion  of  all  those  atoms  is  just  equal  to  the 
motion  of  the  pendulum  at  first.  These  waves  of  atomic 
motion  expand  and  radiate  from  the  points  of  origin,  ex- 
tending on  and  on  and  on,  past  planets  and  stars,  beating 
and  dashing  against  tfceir  brazen  bosoms  as  the  waves  of 
the  ocean  beat  the  rocky  shore.  This  is  not  the  language 
of  fancy  ;  it  is  the  veritable  philosophy,  the  demonstrated 
facts  of  science.  Your  will  gave  birth  to  motion  communi- 
cated along  the  nerve  of  your  arm  to  the  pendulum,  and 
that  motion  has  gone  past  your  recall,  on  its  eternal  errand 
among  the  stars.  What  a  solemn  thought !  You  are  the 
parent  of  the  infinite  ! 


32  .      OUR  HOME. 

And  yet  this  illustration  but  faintly  shadows  the  awful- 
ness  of  human  influence.  If  a  simple  motion  of  your  hand 
is  fraught  with  eternal  consequences,  what  shall  we  say  of 
the  influences  of  your  mind  ?  They  shall  live  as  long  as 
the  throne  of  the  infinite.  Oh,  that  we  might  impress 
upon  the  minds  of  mother  and  father  the  awful  truth  that 
an  influence  in  its  very  nature  is  eternal.  Not  a  word  or 
thought  or  deed  of  all  the  myriad  dead  but  lives  to-day 
in  the  character  of  our  words  and  deeds  and  thoughts. 
We  are  the  outgrowth  of  all  the  past,  the  grand  resultant 
of  all  the  world's  past  forces.  Only  God  can  measure  the 
influence  of  a  human  thought. 

"  No  stream  from  its  source 
Flows  seaward,  how  lonely  soever  its  course, 
But  what  some  land  is  gladdened.    No  star  ever  rose 
And  set  without  influence  somewhere.    Who  knows 
What  earth  needs  from  earth's  lowest  creature  ?    No  life 
Can  be  pure  in  its  purpose  and  strong  in  its  strife, 
And  all  life  not  be  purer  and  stronger  thereby." 

A  mother  speaks  a  fretful  word  to  a  child  at  a  critical 
moment,  when  just  upon  his  trembling  lips  hangs  the 
ready  word  of  penitence,  and  in  his  eye  a  tear,  held  back 
by  the  thinnest  veil  through  which  a  single  tender  glance 
might  pierce.  But  the  tender  glance  is  withheld.  The 
penitence  grows  cold  upon  his  lip,  the  tear  creeps  back  to 
its  fountain,  the  heart  grows  harder  day  by  day,  until  that 
mother  mourns  over  a  wayward  child,  the  neighborhood 
over  a  rude  boy,  the  city  over  a  reckless  youth,  the  state 
over  a  dangerous  man,  and  the  nation  over  the  sad  havoc  of 


INFLUENCES  OF  HOME.  33 

a  dark  assassin.  Who  can  trace  to  its  ultimate  effect  that 
fretful  word  through  all  its  ramifications  to  infinite  conse- 
quences ?  That  word  shall  reverberate  through  the  halls  of 
eternity  when  planets  are  dust  and  stars  are  ashes. 

Does  any  one  doubt  that  the  infinite  results,  in  the  form 
of  modified  thought,  speech  and  action,  yet  to  be  experi- 
enced from  the  assassination  of  our  late  beloved  president, 
are  all  traceable  to  the  early  influences  of  home? 

Who  can  tell  how  much  of  that  enormous  crime  must  be 
shouldered  by  the  parents  of  Guiteau?  But  if  the  ulti- 
mate consequence  of  the  assassin's  evil  deed  can  never  be 
estimated,  neither  can  the  good  deeds  of  hi*  victim.  Truly 
may  it  be  said  of  the  immortal  Garfield, — 

Such  life  as  bis  can  ne'er  be  lost; 

It  blends  with  unborn  blood, 

And  through  the  ceaseless  flow  of  years 

Moves  with  the  mighty  flood. 

His  life  is  ours,  he  lives  in  ns, 

We  feel  the  potent  thrill, 

And  through  the  coming  centuries 

The  world  shall  feel  it  still. 

The  web  of  human  life  is  wove 

Not  with  a  single  strand, 

But  every  grand  and  noble  man 

Holds  one  within  his  hand. 

And  in  that  pulseless  hand  to-day 

There  lies  a  strand  of  power, 

Whose  gentle  draft  shall  still  be  felt 

Till  time's  remotest  hour. 

Of  all  human  influences  those  of  home  are  the  most  far 
reaching  in  their  results.  The  mutual  influence  of  broth- 
ers and  sisters  may  be  almost  incalculable.  There  are 
many  men  who  owe  their  honor,  their  integrity  and  their 


:U  OUR  HOME. 

manhood  to  the  influence  of  pure  minded  sisters.  Sisters 
usually  have  it  in  their  power  to  shape  the  character  of 
their  brothers  as  they  choose.  There  is  naturally  a  pure 
and  holy  affection  existing  between  brothers  and  sisters.  It 
is  natural  for  all  brothers  to  feel  and  believe  that,  in  some 
way,  their  sisters  are  purer  and  better  than  others,  and  sis- 
ters also  believe  that  their  brothers  are  nobler  than  the 
brothers  of  their  associates.  This  sentiment  is  so  univer- 
sal that  we  cannot  help  believing  it  was  ordained  for  a 
wise  purpose.  Of  course  there  is  the  element  of  decep- 
tion in  it,  but  it  is  one  of  nature's  wise  deceptions.  She 
deceives  us,  or  tries  to  deceive  us,  when  she  paints  what 
seems  a  solid  bow  upon  the  canvas  of  the  sky.  She  de- 
ceives the  superstitious  and  ignorant  when  she  flings  her 
chain  of  molten  gold  around  the  dusky  shoulders  of  the 
night.  But  these  deceptions  are  not  such  as  to  cast  any 
reflections  upon  her  integrity.  So  we  may  believe  that  this 
sweet  deception  which  makes  angels  of  sisters  and  heroes 
of  brothers  was  divinely  ordered  to  unite  brothers  and  sis- 
ters in  closest  communion  and  to  bring  them  both  within 
the  enchanted  circle  of  home  influence. 

"  I  shot  an  arrow  in  the  air, 
It  fell  to  earth,  I  knew  not  where. 

************ 

"  I  breathed  a  song  into  the  air, 
It  fell  on  earth,  I  know  not  where. 

************ 

"Long,  long  afterwards  in  an  oak 
I  found  the  arrow  still  unbroke; 
And  the  song,  from  beginning  to  end, 
I  found  again  in  the  heart  of  a  friend." 


B  §    (Q)  F    P 


BUDS   OF   PROMISE. 


|OME  as  a  natural   institution   lias  for  its  pri- 
mary object    the   nurturing  of  those  tender 
budfl    of    promise    which    can    mature    in    no 
other  soil.     But  the  human  1>u<1,  unlike  that 
of  the   flower,  does  not  contain   its  future 
wholly   wrapt    up  within   itself,   hut    depends 
&**     more  upon  the   hand   that    nurtures  it.     The 
*$fts       rose  bud,  no  matter  in  what  soil  it  grows,  DO 
A  matter  what    care   it    receives,  must   blossom 

▼  into  a  rose.     No  care  or  neglect,  at  lead  in 

any  definite  period  of  time,  can  transform  it  into  I  noxious 
But  on  every  mother's  bosom  there  rests  a  bud  of 
promise,  and  whether  or  not  that  promise  shall  be  fulfilled 

ads  upon  her.  Whether  that  hud  shall  hlossom  into 
a  pure  and  fragrant  rose  or  into  the  flower  of  the  deadly 
nightshade,  is  at  the  option  of  the  guardian.  We  would 
not,  however,  be  understood  as  teaching  the  doctrine  long 
since  abandoned  by  the  investigators  of  human  science, 

that  all   are  born  equal   as   regards   future  possibilities,      if 
men   had   known   the  subtle  laws  that  govern  the  develop- 
ment   of    the    human   intellect,  they    perhaps    might    have 
1   the  lightning's  course   through  the  infant   brain  of 


36  OUR  HOME. 

Franklin,  and  have  discerned  in  the  nascent  mind  of  New- 
ton the  unlighted  lamp  whose  far-searching  beams  have 
since  guided  the  human  intellect  through  the  trackless 
void  of  the  night.  And  yet,  had  the  guardianship  of 
these  minds  been  different,  they  might  to-day  be  baleful 
blood-red  stars  in  the  firmament  of  guilt  and  sin.  Homer, 
Shakespeare,  Milton,  Washington,  Webster  and  Longfel- 
low each  lay  as  a  little  bud  of  promise  on  a  mother's 
bosom,  and  yet  that  mother  knew  not  that  the  world  was 
to  thunder  with  applause  at  the  mention  of  her  dear  one's 
name.     Knew  not? 

We  will  not,  however,  speak  thus  positively,  for  history 
furnishes  much  evidence  that  with  the  birth  of  such  a  bud 
there  comes  a  hint  of  its  promise  ;  as  it  were,  a  letter  to 
its  guardian  from  the  Creator. 

So  close  is  the  relation  between  mother  and  child  that 
to  the  spiritually  minded  mother  there  seems  to  come  a 
premonition  of  her  child's  destiny.  And  yet  this  fact 
does  not  in  the  least  lighten  the  burden  of  responsibility 
that  falls  on  every  mother  at  the  birth  of  her  child.  Such 
a  premonition,  indeed,  would  always  be  a  safe  guide  were 
it  always  given ;  but  a  mother,  through  lack  of  suscepti- 
bility dependent  on  temperamental  conditions,  may  hold 
in  her  arms  unawares,  that  which  the  world  has  a  right  to 
claim.  Out  from  among  the  thrice  ten  thousand  little 
children  that  swell  the  murmur  in  the  school-rooms  of  the 
great  cities,  or  with  bare  and  sun-burnt  feet  patter  up  the 


BUDS  OF  PROMISE.  37 

aisles  of  those  dear  old  school-houses  that  nestle  among 
the  hills  and  valleys,  sacred  urns  that  hold  the  childish 
secrets  and  hallowed  memories  of  a  thousand  hearts,  out 
from  among  these  shall  the  angel  of  destiny  select  one  and 
place  upon  his  little  head  the  crown  of  Longfellow  and 
dedicate  him  to  the  service  of  his  kind,  and  make  him  the 
sweet  interpreter  of  star  and  flower. 

Mother!  shall  it  be  your  boy?  Do  you  hear  in  your 
soul  the  gentle  whisper?  If  you  do,  wherever  you  may 
be,  may  the  benediction  of  humanity  rest  upon  you.  May 
your  precious  life  be  spared  to  watch  the  opening  of  that 
bud  of  promise.  As  friends  and  neighbors  assemble  to  see 
the  unfolding  of  the  night-blooming  cereus,  so  the  world 
shall  watch  the  unfolding  of  that  precious  bud. 

Let  every  mother  act  as  if  she  held  a  bud  of  promise. 
Let  those  who  have  not  felt  the  premonition  attribute  it 
to  their  insensibility.  Better  a  thousand  times  bestow 
your  tenderest  care  upon  an  idiot,  better  believe  that  you 
hold  the  bud  of  genius  and  awake  to  bitter  disappoint- 
ment, than  to  learn  in  the  end  that  you  have  failed  to  do 
your  duty,  and  that  a  genius  grand  and  awful  like  a  fallen 
temple  lies  at  your  feet  in  the  pitiful  impotence  of  mani- 
fest but  unused  power. 

But  the  buds  of  promise  are  not  confined  to  the  great 
geniuses.  As  we  said  at  the  beginning  of  this  chapter, 
every  infant  is  a  bud  of  promise.  It  is  not  the  Washing- 
tons,  the  Lincolns,  and  the  Garfields,  that  shape  a  nation. 


38  OUR  HOME. 

They  are  the  directing  forces,  like  the  man  who  holds  the 
levers  and  valves  of  the  engine.  But,  as  after  all  it  is  the 
toiling,  puffing  steam  that  drags  the  train,  so  it  is  the 
great  delving,  toiling,  sweating  multitude  that  shapes  the 
character  of  nations. 

1 1  was  not  her  statesmen  that  made  Greece  grand.  It 
was  the  character  of  the  common  people.  The  mightiest 
statesmen  that  the  world  has  ever  yet  produced  could  not 
make  a  grand  republic  in  the  South  Sea  islands.  What  a 
nation  needs  is  honest  toilers ;  intelligent  and  scholarly 
farmers,  cautious,  scientific  and  temperate  railroad  engi- 
neers, learned  blacksmiths,  and  healthy,  intelligent  and 
pious  wood  choppers. 

Thus  every  mother  is  the  guardian  of  a  bud  of  promise, 
and  whether  she  will  or  not  must  hold  herself  responsible 
for  the  blossom,  and  let  her  not  hasten  to  rid  herself  of 
that  responsibility.  That  bud  will  open  soon  enough. 
No  bud  develops  so  rapidly  as  a  human  bud.  Let  it  re- ' 
main  a  bud  just  as  long  as  possible.  The  rose  acquires  its 
perfume  while  its  petals  are  folded,  and  the  longer  it  re- 
mains a  bud,  the  sweeter  will  be  the  blossom. 

Again,  it  is  the  most  rapidly  developing  bud  that  soonest 
fades.  Then  do  not  pull  apart  the  tender  petals  of  that 
bud  of  promise  in  order  to  hasten  its  unfolding,  lest  in  an 
hour  of  sadness  you  should  say : — 

"  And  this  is  the  end  of  it  all: 
Of  my  waiting  and  my  pain — 
Only  a  little  funeral  pall 
And  empty  arms  again." 


BUDS  OF  PROMISE.  39 

There  can  be  nothing  more  destructive  to  the  promises 
it  contains  than  to  attempt  to  open  a  rosebud  with  any 
other  instrument  than  a  sunbeam. 

The  world  is  full  of  the  withered  buds  of  human  promise 
that  have  been  too  early  torn  open  by  the  thoughtless 
hand  of  parental  pride. 

The  crying  sin  of  American  parents  is  their  unwilling- 
ness to  let  their  children  grow.  They  wish  to  transform 
them  all  at  once  from  prattling  infants  into  immortal 
geniuses.  They  have  more  faith  in  art  than  in  Nature,  in 
books  and  school  rooms  than  in  brooks  and  groves. 

Young  children  should  not  only  be  kept  from  school, 
but  they  should  be  taught  at  home  very  sparingly  and 
with  the  greatest  caution  in  those  things  which  are 
generally  considered  as  constituting  an  education.  Many 
suppose  that  the  injury  of  too  early  mental  training  re- 
sults solely  from  the  confinement  within  the  school  room, 
but  this  is  a  great  mistake.  The  injury  results  chiefly 
from  determining  the  expenditure  of  nervous  energy 
through  the  brain  instead  of  through  the  muscular  system. 
Your  young  child  must  have  no  thoughts  except  those 
which  originate  in  the  incoherent  activity  of  his  childish 
freedom. 

All  others  he  has  at  the  expense  of  bone  and  muscle, 
lung  and  stomach,  and  ultimately  at  the  expense  of  his 
whole  being.  The  solution  of  a  mathematical  problem  is 
as  much  a  physical  task  as  the  lifting  of  a  weight.      The 


40  OUR  HOME. 

passion  of  the  orator  and  the  devotion  of  the  saint  are 
both  measured  by  the  potentialities  of  bread  and  meat. 

So  that  those  who  try  to  fill  their  little  children's  minds 
with  "great  thoughts"  and  who  teach  them  to  meditate 
upon  the  great  realities  of  life,  thinking  thereby  to  make 
them  grand  and  great,  are  not  only  defeating  their  own 
ends,  but  are  destroying  the  foundations  of  future  possi- 
bility. They  are  turning  to  loathsome  foulness  the  sweetest 
perfume  of  those  buds  whose  undeveloped  petals  they  are 
so  rudely  tearing  apart. 

The  social  forces  of  the  present  age  are  such  as  to  render 
young  children  peculiarly  liable  to  precocity.  Mentality 
has  acquired  such  an  impetus  through  hereditary  influences 
that  the  minds  of  infants  early  commence  that  fatal  race 
of  thought,  which  results  in  the  wreck  of  so  many  thou- 
sands of  human  bodies.  Thoughtfulness  in  }routh,  and  even 
in  childhood,  when  the  physical  system  has  become  strong 
enough  to  be  aggressive  in  its  relations  to  the  natural 
forces,  cannot  be  too  strongly  urged.  But  infantile 
thought  is  not  only  useless,  but  is  a  great  evil,  and  usually 
involves  an  irreparable  waste  of  life  force. 

There  are  two  great  evils  whose  indirect  influence  upon 
the  world  cannot  be  estimated. 

The  one  is  the  overfeeding  of  infants,  and  the  other  is 
the  unnatural  and  abnormal  activity  of  the  infant  mind ; 
and  the  one  evil  enhances  the  other,  for  there  is  nothing  that 
so  interferes  with  digestion  in  the  young  child  as  thought. 


BUDS  OF  PROMISE.  41 

Wendell  Phillips  in  speaking  of  the  evils  of  American 
precocity,  with  his  characteristic  and  humorous  hyperbole, 
tells  us  that  the  American  infant  impatiently  raising  him- 
self in  the  cradle  begins  at  once  to  study  the  structure  and 
uses  of  the  various  objects  about  him,  and  before  he  is  nine 
months  old  has  procured  a  patent  for  an  improvement  on 
some  article  of  the  household  furniture. 

"  Who  can  tell  what  a  baby  thinks  ? 
Who  <:in  follow  the  gossamer  links 
By  which  the  manikin  feels  his  way 
Out  from  the  shores  of  the  great  unknown, 
Blind,  and  wailing,  and  alone, 
Into  the  light  of  day? 
Out  from  the  shore  of  the  unknown  sea, 
Tossing  in  pit i ful  agony, — 
Of  the  unknown  sea  that  reels  and  rolls, 
Specked  with  the  barks  of  little  souls — 
Barks  that  were  launched  on  the  other  side, 
And  slipped  from  heaven  on  an  ebbing  tide! 
What  does  he  think  of  his  mother's  eyes  ? 
What  does  he  think  of  his  mother's  hair  ? 
What  of  the  cradle-roof  that  flies 
Forward  and  backward  through  the  air? 
What  does  he  think  of  his  mother's  breast, 
Bare  and  beautiful,  smooth  and  white, 
Seeking  it  ever  with  fresh  delight — 
Cup  of  his  life  and  couch  of  his  rest  ?  " 


CHILDHOOD. 


LL  animals  are  born  in  a  somewhat  helpless 
condition,  but  none  so  helpless  as  the  human 
being,  hence  its  necessity  fur  the  tenderest 
Throughout  all  nature  it  is  the  func- 
tion of  the  mother  to  exercise  a  special  care 
over  the  young.  The  mere  intellectual  de- 
for  the  child's  welfare  is  not  sufficient  to 
insure  that  degree  of  attention  which  it  re- 
quires; for  the  most  intelligent,  and  even  Christian  moth- 
ers are  sometimes  utterly  neglectful  of  their  children, 
while  the  selfish  and  narrow  minded  are  frequently  very 
tender  in  their  attentions.  Why  is  this?  It  is  simply  be- 
cause the  mother  love,  or  more  properly,  the  parental  love, 
is  not  the  outgrowth  of  a  sense  of  duty.  It  is  an  instinct 
which  we  possess  in  common  with  the  brute.  It  is  a  sig- 
nificant fact  that  throughout  the  whole  animal  kingdom 
the  parents  possess  this  instinct  just  in  proportion  to  the 
helplessness  of  the  offspring. 

The  home  is  a  universal  institution,  and  exists  among 
the  lower  animals  the  same  as  with  the  human.  It  was, 
doubtless,  designed  to  meet  the  necessities  arising  from  the 
helplessness  of  offspring.    The  young  lion  could  not  accom- 


CHILDHOOD.  4i3 

pany  its  parents  in  their  search  for  food,  nor  could  the 
eaglet  soar  with  its  mother  into  the  heavens.  Hence  the 
necessity  of  an  instinct  that  should  prompt  the  lion  and 
the  eagle  to  select  and  prepare  a  proper  place  in  which  to 
leave  their  young  while  they  may  attend  to  the  duties  im- 
posed by  their  mode  of  life.  So  reason  may  tell  us  that  it 
would  be  far  better  for  us  to  take  good  care  of  our  children, 
and  to  provide  for  them  a  suitable  home,  but  our  observa- 
tion of  those  in  whom  the  instinct  is  weak  convinces  us 
that  mere  reason  seldom  produces  this  result.  While  the 
intellect  tells  us  what  we  ought  to  do,  it  gives  no  impulse 
to  do  it ;  but  instinct  gives  the  impulse,  the  desire  to  do, 
and  when  the  instinct  is  in  a  healthy  condition  we  may  rely 
on  the  intellect  of  Him  who  implanted  the  instinct,  for  the 
fitness  of  the  acts  to  which  it  prompts  us.  Indeed,  it  is  a 
law  of  our  being  that  reason  cannot  perform  the  office  of 
an  instinct.  It  may  tell  us  that  we  ought  to  breathe  inces- 
santly, but  there  are  few  of  us  who  would  not  forget  the 
duty  were  it  not  for  the  instinctive  impulse. 

Without  the  home  instinct,  the  legitimate  desire  for 
novelty  which  all  possess  would  be  left  unbalanced,  and 
the  whole  human  race  would  wander  from  place  to  place, 
and  the  world  would  become  one  mighty  caravan.  With- 
out the  instinct  of  parental  love,  the  child  would  be  held  in 
the  same  esteem  as  any  other  person  who  should  give  us 
the  same  amount  of  trouble.  And  since  it  is  a  law  of  our 
selfish  nature  that  unless  provision  is  made  by  special  in- 


44  OUR  HOME. 

stin.  t,  we  cannot  love  that  which  gives  us  only  pain,  the 
child's  lot  on  earth  would  indeed  be  an  unenviable  one. 
But  the  instinct  transforms  all  the  pain  and  trouble  into 
joy,  so  that  the  parents  are  not  only  made  willing  thereby 
to  incur  all  the  troubles  and  anxieties  which  their  children 
bring,  but  are  even  made  to  take  positive  delight  in  incur- 
ring them. 

The  home  instinct  and  that  of  parental  love  are  closely 
allied,  and  so  intimate  is  their  relation  that  we  cannot 
doubt  that  they  were  bestowed  with  reference  to  each 
other.  It  is  true  that  many  other  blessings,  even  the 
sweetest  joys  of  life,  are  rooted  in  the  home  instinct ;  but 
these  are  all  secondary  and  subsidiary  to  the  one  grand 
end,  the  home  of  childhood. 

Home  is  the  only  place  where  childhood  can  develop. 
1 1  is  there  only  that  are  to  be  found  those  influences  which 
are  ny  to  fertilize  the  character  of  the  child  and 

cause  it  to  blossom  and  bear  the  fruit  of  a  noble  life.  Why 
have  nearly  all  great  men  had  homes  illustrious  for  their 
beauty,  and  the  purity  of  their  iniluences?  The  answer  is 
to  be  found  in  the  fact  that  the  soil  of  home  contains  just 
those  elements  required  for  the  growth  and  development 
of  the  child's  body,  mind  and  soul. 

Notice  closely  the  figure,  the  face,  the  features,  the  voice 
of  that  little  street  waif.  Why  is  his  frame  so  small  and 
shrunken  ?  Why  are  his  features  all  crowded  and  pinched  ? 
Why  do  his  eye,  his  walk,  his  voice  and  his  manner  sug- 


CHILDHOOD.  45 

gest  shriveled  precocity?  For  the  same  reason  that  an 
apple  which  has  been  early  detached  from  its  stem  will 
become  early  ripe,  but  never  developed.  Subject  it  to 
whatever  treatment  we  may,  it  will  shrivel  up  and  become 
insipid,  fit  symbol  of  the  boy  who  was  early  dropped  from 
the  home  into  the  street. 

The  home  is  the  garden  where  buds  become  fruit.  How 
important  then  that  the  garden  be  kept  free  from  weeds, 
while  it  is  enriched  with  affection  and  exposed  to  the  sun- 
light of  joy.  How  slight  an  influence  may  serve  to  blight 
that  opening  bud. 

The  child  is  as  impressible  as  he  is  helpless.  He  is  sim- 
ply the  raw  material  of  a  character  to  be  fashioned  by  the 
silent  and  imperceptible  influence  of  his  surroundings. 
And  it  is  this  whk -h 

"Plants  the  great  hereafter  in  this  now." 

Silently  as  the  falling  of  snow-flakes  the  character  of 
that  child  is  forming.  We  cannot  see  the  bud  unfold,  and 
yet  we  know  that  to-morrow  it  will'  be  a  rose.  So  our  per- 
ception cannot  follow  the  growth  of  the  child's  character, 
and  yet  we  know  that  day  by  day  its  forces  are  gathering 
and  that  soon  he  will  become  to  his  anxious  parents  a  joy 
or  a  sorrow. 

Children  are  much  more  easily  influenced  by  example 
than  by  precept.  A  child  may  be  told  repeatedly  that 
dishonesty  is  sinful,  yet  if  he  detect  dishonesty  in  father, 
mother,  sister  or  brother,  he   will   imitate   the  example. 


4G  OUR  HOME. 

V.u  may  as  well  tell  him  that  sinfulness  is  dishonest,  for 
he  knows  no  difference.  Both  terms  are  meaningless  to  him. 
St  of  the  thieves,  robbers  and  murderers  of  the  next 
generation  are  now  little  innocent  children  in  the  arms  of 
mothers.  How  should  mothers  shudder  at  this  thought! 
The  first  evidence  of  passion  or  of  evil  intent,  the  first 
manifestation  of  dishonesty,  should  alarm  the  mother  like 
the  cry  of  fire  in  the  night. 

' '  The  summer  breeze  that  fans  the  rose, 
Or  eddies  down  some  flowery  path, 
Is  but  tlu>  infant  galt>  that  blows 
To-morrow  with  the  whirlwind's  wrath." 

Mothers!  von  cannot  watch  the  formation  of  that 
child's  character  with  too  critical  an  eye.  By  watching, 
however,  we  do  not  mean  that  BU8piGiOD  and  donl)t  which 
are  so  fatal  confidence  of  the  child,  but  that, 

without  which,  all  yonr  efforts  in  his  behalf  will  be  fruit- 
less. Better  a  thousand  times  that  the  child,  even  in  his 
del  years,  should  gaze  full  upon  the  hideous  face  of  sin, 
than  that  the  silken  cord  of  confidence  be  broken,  that 
binds  him  to  a  mother's  heart.  Liberty  is  the  only  atmos- 
phere in  which  a  human  soul  can  grow.  Strict  literal 
watching  is  both  unnecessary  and  injurious.  Confidence 
between  mother  and  child  may  become  so  perfect  that  the 
child  cannot  commit  a  wrong  without  confessing  it.  Your 
watching  then  should  be  directed  to  the  maintenance  of 
this  confidence,  which  can  be  ensured  only  by  putting  the 
child  upon  his  honor,  for  honor  grows  only  by  being  exer- 


CHILDHOOD.  47 

cised.  With  this  confidence  between  yourself  and  your 
child  you  will  at  all  times  be  conscious  of  his  moral  con- 
dition. You  will  feel  in  your  very  heart  the  first  daw  n- 
ings  of  evil  thought  in  him.  And  remember  that  it  is 
necessary  you  should  know  the  evil  thoughts  as  soon  as 
they  dawn,  for  the  conflagration  that  scourges  with  its 
fury  great  cities  is  less  dangerous  at  its  onset  than  the  first 
evil  thought  in  the  heart  of  youth. 

"  Crush  the  first  germ  ;  too  late  your  cares  begin 
When  long  delays  have  fortified  the  sin.  " 

But  by  nature  the  young  child  is  innocent,  and  positive 
influences  for  evil  must  be  brought  to  bear  upon  him  be- 
fore he  can  become  otherwise.  With  his  half  divine  na- 
ture he  recoils  from  the  very  sight  or  sound  of  that  which 
is  wrong.  Yet  he  is  so  imitative  and  so  susceptible  that 
his  clanger  is  nevertheless  imminent,  and  the  fact  that  he 
may  more  readily  imitate  the  good  than  the  evil  should 
not  relax  parental  vigilance. 

Young  children  and  even  infants  comprehend  far  more 
than  people  generally  believe.  They  cannot  express  their 
mental  operations  by  the  use  of  language.  Their  thoughts 
are  expressed  only  by  their  actions,  and  how  vague  an 
idea  of  the  thoughts  of  the  profoundest  thinkers  should 
we  have  if  our  only  clue  to  them  were  the  mere  outward 
acts  of  their  author.  Were  actions  the  only  interpreters 
of  human  thought,  the  world  would  appear  to  us  like  a 
vast  insane  asylum. 


OUR  HOME. 

Happiness  is  the  only  food  on  which  the  child  can  be 
fed  with  profit.  Sorrow  is  sometimes  an  excellent  thing 
for  tho  ■•■  spiritual  digestion  is  sufficiently  strong, 

but  children  never  should  be  fed  on  this  diet.  Sorrow 
ns,  but  joy  develops  a  soul.  But  let  us  not  entertain 
that  foolish  and  cruel  notion  so  prevalent,  that  hard 
knocks,  disappointment,  constant  work  and  little  recreation 
are  necessary  to  develop  the  character  of  a  child.  Some 
one  has  given  the  following  beautiful  piece  of  advice  to 
mothers:  "Always  send  your  little  child  to  bed  happy. 
Whatever  cares  may  trouble  your  mind,  give  the  dear  child 
a  warm  good-night  kiss  as  it  goes  to  its  pillow.  The  mem- 
ory of  this  in  the  stormy  years  which  may  be  in  store  for 
the  little  one  will  be  like  Bethlehem's  star  to  the  bewildered 

•pherds,  and  welling  up  in  the  heart  will  rise  the  thought, 
"  my  father,  my  mother  loved  me!"  Lips  parched  with 
fever  will  become  dewy  again  at  this  thrill  of  useful  memo- 
ries.    Kiss  your  little  child  before  it  goes  to  sleep." 

"Ah!  what  would  the  world  be  to  us 
If  the  children  were  no  more  ? 

We  should  dread  the  desert  behind  us 
Worse  than  the  dark  before. 

"  What  the  leaves  are  to  the  forest, 
With  light  and  air  for  food, 
Ere  their  sweet  and  tender  juices 
Have  been  hardened  into  wood,— 

"  That  to  the  world  are  children  ; 
Through  them  it  feels  the  glow 
Of  a  brighter  and  sunnier  climate 
Than  reaches  the  trunks  below." 


HOME   TRAINING. 


y^TTT^IIE  training  of  the  child  necessarily  begins 
M  Fri  with  the  body,  for  the  young  child  must  be 
-  regarded  chiefly  as  a  young  animal.  The 
animal  is  the  first  to  be  developed,  and  in 
every  well  born  and  healthy  child  the  mani- 
festations of  animality  will  precede  those  of 
intellectuality.  One  has  said,  M  If  you  would 
make  your  child  a  good  man,  first  make  him 
a  great  animal."  The  child's  prospects  of  future  great- 
ness are  measured  in  part  by  his  stomach  and  lungs. 

The  most  important  period  of  a  child's  training,  then, 
is  that  period  during  which  he  is  an  animal.  Nature's 
method  seems  to  be  to  form  first  a  powerful  physical  sys- 
tem, and  then  on  this  as  a  foundation  to  rear  the  intellec- 
tual and  the  moral.  If  the  physical  is  diseased  the  mental 
cannot  be  healthy.  The  most  important  element  in  a 
great  man  is  a  great  body,  great  in  health,  in  vital  stam- 
ina, and  in  its  capacity  to  become  the  foundation  for  the 
mind. 

In  view  of  these  facts  it  becomes  of  paramount  impor- 
tance that  the  mother  have  a  knowledge  of  physiology. 


50  OUR  HOME. 

No  woman  has  any  moral  right  to  bear  the  honored  name 
of  mother  till  she  possesses  such  knowledge.  We  would 
not  place  a  delicate  machine  in  the  hands  of  one  who  was 
ignorant  of  its  structure.  Not  that  the  mother  should  be 
a  physician,  for  she  generally  practices  medicine  too  much. 
It  is  as  important  that  she  should  know  how  to  let  her 
child  alone,  as  to  know  how  to  take  care  of  him.  It  is  not 
necessary  that  she  should  know  just  what  to  do  for  him 
when  he  is  sick.  It  is  much  better  for  her  to  know  what 
not  to  do  for  him.  It  is  the  doctor's  duty  to  cure  him 
when  he  is  sick,  but  it  is  the  mother's  duty  never  to  givtf 
the  doctor  an  opportunity  to  display  his  skill  in  this  direc- 
tion. Let  every  mother  remember  this  fact,  that  the  cry 
of  a  sick  child  is  the  tell-tale  that  convicts  her  of  sin. 
A  child  never  cries  unless  its  mother  has  wronged  it.  A 
healthy  child  is  always  angelic.  No  parent  has  any  busi- 
ness with  any  but  a  healthy  child,  for  wholesome  food  in 
proper  quantities  never  deranged  a  stomach.  Pure  air 
never  diseased  a  lung.  A  human  eye  was  never  blinded 
by  the  diffused  sunlight.  Teeth  never  decayed  through 
grinding  pure  and  wholesome  food. 

No  child,  unless  his  appetite  has  been  pampered  by  a 
foolish  mother,  will  ever  crave  that  which  it  is  necessary 
to  withhold  from  him.  Nor  will  his  appetite  ever  require 
to  be  urged.  No  rational  person  will  contend  that  reason 
should  usurp  the  place  of  instinct  in  the  matter  of  eating 
and  drinking.     Those  delicate  conditions  of  the  system  in 


HOME  TRAINING.  51 

which  it  accepts  or  rejects  nourishment  are  entirely  be- 
yond the  ken  of  reason.  Through  the  whole  animal  king- 
dom, including  man,  there  is  an  instinct  which  tells  its 
possessor  just  what  kind  of  food  and  how  much  its  system 
requires.  No  tests  of  science  could  determine  this.  Tyn- 
dall  may  exhaust  all  his  resources  in  trying  to  determine 
whether  or  not  a  given  robin  has  eaten  enough  to  meet 
the  requirements  of  its  physical  nature.  At  his  best  he 
can  only  estimate  it,  but  the  robin  knows  exactly. 

We  have  known  a  mother  to  urge  her  little  baby  to  rip 
from  her  own  cup  of  tea,  and  have  seen  her  appear  quite 
grieved  because  the  little  creature  with  pure  mind  and 
pure  body  instinctively  rejected  the  proffered  beverage  of 
sinful  men.  And  after  being  defeated  in  her  attempt  to 
poison  and  vitiate  his  taste,  she  would  exclaim,  "I  fear 
my  child  is  going  to  be  eccentric."  Some  mothers  are  al- 
most terrified  at  seeing  their  child  eat  a  piece  of  bread 
without  butter,  although  writers  on  hygiene,  whose  books 
are  within  the  reach  of  all  mothers,  are  agreed  that  butter 
is  one  of  the  abominations  of  civilization.  It  is  not  our 
intention  to  write  on  the  subject  of  health  or  diet,  but  so 
long  as  butter,  spices  and  other  unnecessaries  are  admitted 
to  be  evils,  it  seems  unpardonably  foolish,  not  to  say 
wicked,  to  urge  the  young  child  to  use  them,  especially 
since  he  does  not  desire  them,  and  shows  by  his  actions 
that  he  would  much  prefer  not  to  have  his  food  polluted 
with  such  stuff.     Let  the  mother  refrain  from  pampering 


OUR  HOME. 

her  child's  appetite,  or  else  be  willing  to  take  the  conse- 
quences when  that  same  appetite,  diseased  and  perverted 
by  her  own  hand,  shall  bring  him  home  reeling  and  stag- 
gering to  her  frantic  arms.  That  mighty  army  of  one 
hundred  thousand  who  are  annually  marching  down  to 
drunkards'  graves  were,  for  the  most  part,  we  believe, 
trained  for  that  awful  march  by  mothers. 

It  is  admitted  by  all  that  alcohol  is  repugnant  to  the 
unvitiatrd  taste  of  man  or  beast.  No  child  with  instincts 
pore  from  the  hand  of  God  will  taste  of  alcohol.  It  is  not 
until  his  appetite  has  been  depraved  by  Mrs.  Winslow's 
Soothing  Syrups  and  other  abominations.  All  these  must 
first  be  forced  down  his  throat  by  the  stern  exercise  of 
parental  authority  before  he  learns  to  tolerate  alcohol  in 
any  form.  The  child's  instinct  is  God's  argument  and  it 
is  unanswerable.  If  it  be  true  then  that  a  healthy  instinct 
rejects  alcohol,  how  shall  we  account  for  the  almost  uni- 
versal appetite  for  it?  There  can  be  but  one  explanation, 
some  almost  universal  depraving  agency ;  and  what  can 
this  he  but  the  wrong  physical  training  to  which  mothers 
subject  their  offspring. 

The  problem  of  home  training  to-day  covers  the  prob- 
lem of  intemperance.  So  long  as  children  are  growing  up 
with  a  taste  for  the  nostrums  with  which  babies  are  uni- 
versally poisoned  the  world  will  be  full  of  drunkards. 

But  it  is  not  alone  the  poisonous  nostrums  which  de- 
prave the  appetite.     The  cookies,  candies,  sweetmeats  and 


HOME  TRAINING.  b\\ 

the  thousand  products  of  human  depravity  and  a  luxurious 
civilization  conspire  to  destroy  that  pure  instinct  which 
God  designed  to  be  a  perfect  guide  as  regards  the  quantity 
and  quality  of  our  food.  We  do  not  understand  how 
Christian  mothers  can  consistently  express  their  faith  in 
God  while  their  acts  show  that  they  distrust  the  wisdom 
which  gave  the  child  this  instinct. 

The  little  child  is  fed  on  flesh,  pickles  and  highly  sea- 
soned food  till  he  becomes  sick ;  then  of  course  he  cries. 
That  breaks  the  mother's  heart  and  she  gives  him  a  cooky 
to  stop  his  crying  before  he  goes  to  bed.  She  cannot  bear 
the  idea  of  her  child  going  to  bed  hungry.  The  cooky 
may  give  him  the  colic,  but  what  of  it  so  long  as  he  is  not 
hungry  !  She  cannot  tell  whether  he  has  the  colic  or  the 
headache,  but  if  he  cries  he  must  have  some  medicine.  It 
is  of  but  little  consequence  what  it  is  so  long  as  it  is 
medicine.  We  have  actually  heard  mothers  when  ques- 
tioned as  to  why  they  gave  their  babies  a  certain  kind  of 
medicine,  answer  that  they  "wished  to  give  them  something 
and  didn't  know  what  else  to  give  them."  We  presume 
it  never  occurred  to  them  to  give  the  baby  the  benefit  of 
the  doubt. 

The  disposition  depends  upon  the  condition  of  the 
stomach.  If  that  be  sour,  the  disposition  will  be  sour 
also.  Many  a  good  child  has  had  his  disposition  spoiled 
with  cake  and  candy.  A  tendency  to  all  forms  of  deprav- 
ity may  result  from  a  diseased  condition  of  the  digestion. 


B  I  OUR  HOME 

Every  form  of  sin  may  originate  with  the  stomach.  Al- 
most all  of  the  suicides  result  from  the  mental  disease  of 
melancholy.  Tins  disease  is  known  by  all  physicians  to  be 
the  direct  result  of  an  affection  of  the  liver,  and  the  liver 
and  stomach  are  so  related  that  the  one  cannot  be  affected 
without  the  other.  Hence  a  wrong  physical  training  of  a 
child  may  lead  to  suicide. 

The  habit  of  dwelling  perpetually  on  the  dark  side  of 
,  as  the  melancholy  person  does,  results  in  the  perver- 
sion   and  depravity  of  the  whole  mind.     Thus  every  sin 
may  originate  in  the  stomach. 

lothers  who  WOllld  regard  the  withholding  of 
tmeats  from  their  children  as  cruelty.  It  is  hard  to 
believe  that  Buoh  persons  exist,  but  observation  forces  the 
fact  upon  us.  Such  mothers,  of  OOUTSC,  can  appreciate  no 
higher  enjoyment  than  that  of  eating  and  drinking,  and 
they  feel  perfectly  contented  so  long  as  their  children  are 
eating  something  that  tastes  good.  They  never  stop  to 
question  whether  the  physical  pleasure  which  a  piece  of 
highly  spiced  mince  pie  yields  their  child  can  compensate 
for  the  physical,  intellectual  and  moral  depravity  that  may 

ult  from  it.  The  mother  who  gives  her  child  candy, 
cakes,  etc.,  simply  for  the  pleasure  of  the  child,  without 
regard  to  their  effect  on  his  health,  whatever  may  be  the 
character  of  her  outward  life,  is  in  spirit  a  sensualist. 

It  is  customary  for  mothers  when  their  children  get 
angry  and  scream,  to  give  them  something  that  tastes  good 


HOME  TRAINING.  55 

to  eat.  Now  this  is  a  two-fold  evil.  It  is  both  a  physical 
and  moral  evil.  It  is  a  physical  evil  because  it  tends 
directly  to  produce  dyspepsia.  The  human  stomach  can- 
not perform  its  functions  properly  while  the  mind  is  angry. 
The  adage,  "  Laugh  and  grow  fat,"  is  founded  in  true 
philosophy.  In  order  for  digestion  to  be  performed  in  the 
most  perfect  manner  there  must  be  at  the  time  of  eating  a 
sense  of  peace  and  joy  pervading  the  mind,  making  the 
very  consciousness  of  existence  delightful.  All  have  ob- 
served that  the  dyspeptic  men  are  those  who  are  fretful 
and  cross  at  the  table.  The  tea  is  too  cold;  the  coffee  is 
too  weak  ;  the  steak  is  cooked  too  much  or  not  enough  ;  the 
potatoes  should  have  been  baked  instead  of  boiled ;  there 
is  too  much  saleratus  in  the  biscuit ;  or  there  is  some  trouble 
with  something — enough  to  cast  a  shadow  over  the  whole 
meal  and  cause  the  whole  family  to  sit  in  gloomy  silence. 

This  is  not  so  much  because  dyspepsia  tends  to  make 
people  cross  at  their  meals,  but  because  being  cross  at 
meals  makes  them  dyspeptics.  Many  men  have  become 
incurably  diseased  by  eating  when  they  were  angry,  and 
the  mother  who  gives  her  child  a  cooky  to  stop  his  crying 
is  laying  for  him  the  foundation  of  a  life  of  suffering. 

Again,  such  a  practice  is  morally  wrong  because  it 
rewards  a  child  for  being  angry.  In  this  way  he  learns, 
whenever  he  wishes  anything,  to  scream  and  cry  until  his 
wish  is  gratified.  He  soon  acquires  such  a  habit  that  he 
does  this  even  though  no  one  be  near  to  grant  the  wish. 


56  OUR  HOME. 

This  is  his  first  lesson  in  rebellion  against  an  unseen 
power.  As  he  grows  older  the  screaming  is  changed  into 
onrsing,  and  thus  originates  the  habit  of  profanity.  Men 
swear  chiefly  because  their  mot  Iris  gave  them  cookies  to 
stop  their  crying.  When  mothers  learn  the  secret  of  home 
training,  all  the  vices  that  now  curse  the  world  will  die  out 
for  want  of  soil  in  which  to  grow. 

All  children  are  overfed.     There  is  no  danger  that  any 
child  will  starve  so  long  as  its  mother  loves  it,  but  there 
great  danger  that  it  will  be  fed  to  death. 

Bhl  the    mother,  how  shall    I  avoid  these  evils? 

How  shall  I  keep  my  child's  appetite  healthy?  And  when 
he  screams  and  will  not  be  satisfied  with  anything  but  a 
peppermint,  what  shall  I  do?  These  are  honest  questions. 
No  mother  willfully  injures  her  child  by  knowingly  de- 
praving his  apj>  id  thereby  all  his  passions.     It  is,  of 

me,  through  ignorance  and  not  malice. 

The  the  most  easy  ami  natural  tiling  in  the 

world.  Simply  let  the  child  alone;  that  is  all.  Children 
have  a  divineh  right  to  be  let  alone,  but  this  right 

has  never  been  granted  by  man.  Your  child  will  keep  his 
own  appetite  healthy  if  you  will  let  him.  When  he 
screams  for  that  which  it  is  not  lawful  for  him  to  have,  the 
treatment  is  very  simple,  let  him  scream.  The  human 
mind  acts  from  motives  and  never  without  them.  The 
child  screams  either  to  make  you  yield  to  him,  or  from  a 
feeling  of  revenge  because  you  do  not  yield. 


HOME  TRAINING.  57 

Now  the  only  way  to  prevent  a  mental  act  is  to  take 
away  the  motives  which  prompt  to  the  act.  Hence  the 
way  to  break  a  child  of  the  vice  of  screaming  is  to  remove 
these  two  motives.  The  first  you  can  remove  by  showing 
him  that  your  word  is  law.  When  you  have  commanded 
him  to  do  or  refrain  from  doing  a  certain  thing,  make  him 
understand  that  you  will  not  revoke  your  order  and  that 
further  pleading  will  be  in  vain. 

The  second  motive,  that  of  revenge,  may  be  removed  by 
proving  to  him  that  it  "  doesn't  work."  Show  by  your 
indifference  that  his  loud  crying  does  not  give  you  the 
least  inconvenience.  You  can  accompany  the  music  with 
the  humming  of  a  careless  tune.  He  will  see  by  this  that 
his  scheme  of  vengeance  is  defeated,  and  there  will  be 
nothing  left  for  him  to  do  but  to  stop  crying  and  amuse 
himself  as  best  he  can.  If  it  is  time  to  put  your  little 
child  to  bed,  do  not  coax  him  to  go  and  then  be  conquered 
by  coaxing  in  return.  Do  not  be  conquered  at  all.  In 
the  first  place,  you  should  not  tell  him  to  go  to  bed  till 
you  know  that  it  is  time  for  him  to  go,  and  not  till  you  are 
determined  he  shall  go.  It  is  not  necessary  that  you  be 
arbitrary.  There  is  no  objection  to  arguing  with  him,  if 
your  command  at  the  time  is  not  fully  understood  by  him. 
Try  to  convince  him  that  he  ought  to  do  as  you  tell  him. 
In  every  instance  the  import  of  the  word  ought  should  be 
kept  before  his  mind.  But  if  he  still  resists,  use  the  argu- 
ment of  force,  paying  no  attention  to  his  cries  and  screams. 


58  OUR  HOME, 

We  do  not  write  thus  coldly  and  unfeelingly  from  any 
lack  of  love  for  little  children.  There  is  nothing  in  the 
wide  realm  of  being  so  lovely  and  pathetic  as  a  young 
child.  There  is  no  eloquence  that  can  equal  its  prattle. 
No  mother  can  love  her  child  too  much.  It  is  not  the  in- 
tensity of  the  mother's  love  that  we  would  condemn,  but 
the  unwise  and  injudicious  direction  of  that  love.  And 
when  we  say  the  child  should  be  let  alone,  we  do  not 
mean  thai  he  should  be  coldly  neglected,  but  simply  that 
lie  should  be  allowed  to  grow  and  develop  in  the  soil  of 
his  own  childish  freedom;  that  his  body  should  be  left 
chiefly  to  the  care  of  its  own  instinct,  while  the  mother 
watches  the  process  with  delight.  Mothers  usually  make 
much  harder  work  taking  care  of  their  children  than  the 
necessities  of  the  case  require.  Most  mothers  may  learn  a 
valuable  lesson  from  the  cat.  See  how  she  takes  care  of 
her  kittens.  She  does  not  doctor  them  ;  she  manifests  no 
anxiety  for  their  physical  welfare.  She  simply  watches 
the  kitten's  growth,  and  doesn't  assume  any  higher  pre- 
rogative. She  brings  a  mouse  and  lays  it  before  the  little 
savage,  but  she  does  not  urge  the  cast-  in  the  least.  If  the 
kitten  does  not  want  it,  she  does  not  say,  "  I  'm  afraid  my 
little  darling  is  going  to  be  sick.  Can't  he  eat  it  anyway  ? 
Please  eat  it  for  mamma."  O  no,  she  just  eats  it  herself. 
and  does  not  seem  to  have  the  least  fear  that  nature  will 
forget  to  bring  back  her  child's  appetite.  Nor  does  she 
seem  to  resent  the  kitten's  refusal  to  accept  her  offer,  but 


HOME  TRAINING.  59 

the  next  mouse  is  usually  eaten  with  a  relish.  Thus  the 
cat  is  wiser  than  the  human  mother,  for  she  is  wise  enough 
to  entrust  to  nature  those  things  which  she  herself  is  not 
wise  enough  to  do.  The  world  has  yet  to  learn  that  the 
little  children  are  its  physical  and  spiritual  teachers. 
When  Christ  would  name  the  greatest  in  the  kingdom  of 
Heaven  he  said,  "  Who  so  humbleth  himself  as  this  little 
child,  the  same  is  greatest  in  the  kingdom  of  Heaven," 
thus  making  it  a  kingdom  of  little  children.  There  was 
philosophy  in  that  beautiful  reply  of  Christ.  All  sin  con- 
sists simply  in  the  acts  that  are  prompted  by  instincts 
which  have  been  depraved.  Children's  instincts  are  least 
depraved,  for  they  are  nearest  to  the  source  of  all  purity. 
Hence  the  child's  heart  must  always  be  the  truest  symbol 
of  Heaven. 

We  do  not  belong  to  that  school  whose  motto  is  "  spare 
the  rod  and  spoil  the  child."  We  believe  that  untold  evil 
has  resulted  to  the  world  from  that  false  philosophy,  and 
we  are  glad  to  know  that  the  world  is  rapidly  discarding  it. 
To  say  nothing  of  the  morality,  or  rather  immorality,  of  the 
doctrine,  it  is  entirely  unnecessary.  How  foolish  to  break 
the  sweet  spell  of  confidence  by  beating  and  striking, 
when  the  little  heart  can  be  melted  in  penitential  grief  by 
a  word !  Why  use  sticks  and  clubs  when  the  child  does 
not  fear  them  half  so  much  as  he  does  his  mother's  grief ! 
Hyenas  snarl  and  growl  and  strike,  and  some  mothers  snarl 
and  scold  and  strike.    Isn't  the  analogy  almost  humiliating? 


60  OUR  HOME. 

But  this  method  of  treatment  does  not  accomplish  the 
desired  result.  Whipping  a  child  does  not  and  cannot 
produce  any  desirable  internal  change  of  character.  It 
may  modify  the  outward  acts.  It  may  also  produce  an  in- 
ternal change,  but  only  for  the  worse;  only  that  change 
which  comes  from  perpetually  harboring  a  feeling  of  ha- 
tred and  revenge.  A  blow  struck  upon  unregenerate  hu- 
manity can  awaken  but  one  feeling,  and  that  is  the  feeling 
of  resentment.  The  child  always  resents  a  blow ,  whether 
it  comes  from  his  parent  or  from  a  playmate.  lie 
cannot  easily  be  made  to  acknowledge  in  his  heart  that 
the  punishment  is  just ;  and  while,  he  believes  that  it  is 
unjust  he  will  feel  rebellious,  and  no  one  will  contend  that 
a  rebellious  feeling  can  do  much  toward  elevating  the 
character.  The  feelings  of  anger,  hatred  and  physical  fear 
are  among  those  which  we  have  in  common  with  the 
brutes,  and  while  we  are  under  the  dominion  of  these  feel- 
ings we  cannot  rise  much  above  the  brute.  All  know 
how  utterly  depraving  anger  is  to  the  whole  mind,  and 
the  effect  of  physical  fear  is  nearly  as  bad.  Some  who 
have  been  thought  noble  have  been  known  when  brought 
face  to  face  with  death  upon  the  ocean,  to  rudely  snatch  a 
life-preserver  from  a  helpless  woman ;  thus  showing  how 
physical  fear  may  j  the  sense  of  honor  and  every 

other  noble  sentiment  of  the  soul.     Now  what  is  true  of 
man  under  the  influence  of  an  intense  fear  is  also  true 
of  the  child  under  the  influence  of  a  less  intense  fear.     It 


HOME  TRAINING.  61 

is  the  nature  of  fear,  whether  great  or  small,  to  repress  all 
that  is  God-like  and  arouse  all  that  is  demoniac.  You 
cannot  inflict  corporal  punishment  on  a  child  without  fill- 
ing his  little  heart  with  fear.  It  is  a  well  known  fact  that 
under  a  cruel  and  tyrannical  teacher  the  pupils  rapidly  be- 
come vicious  and  untrustworthy.  This  is  simply  because 
of  the  moral  repression  resulting  from  constant  fear.  Then 
do  not  frighten  the  children.  Every  argument  that  can 
be  deduced  from  the  wide  range  of  human  nature  forbids 
us  to  inflict  corporal  punishment  on  children. 

"  But,"  says  the  disciple  of  the  rod,  "  the  child  can  be 
made  to  acknowledge  the  justice  of  the  punishment,  and 
ought  not  to  be  punished  until  he  does  acknowledge  it. 
By  the  proper  argument  he  may  be  made  to  feel  that  he 
deserves  to  be  punished."  Very  well ;  then  he  does  n't 
need  to  be  punished.  The  object  of  punishment  of  course 
is  to  induce  penitence,  and  if  the  child  becomes  penitent 
before  the  punishment,  he  certainly  doesn't  need  to  be 
punished.  Who  would  punish  a  child  after  he  had  ac- 
knowledged that  he  ought  to  be  ?  Think  of  the  mother 
who  could  whip  her  child  after  he  had  laid  his  head  sob- 
bing on  her  bosom  and  said,  "  Mamma,  I  ought  to  be 
whipped  ! "  And  yet,  according  to  the  admission  of  even 
the  Solomon  school,  he  should  be  willing  to  say  this  be- 
fore he  ought  to  be  whipped.  He  must  be  made  penitent 
before  the  punishment  can  have  any  but  an  evil  effect. 

The  whole  truth  is  expressed  in  these  two  facts.     First, 


n  OUR  HOME. 

we  ought  not  to  punish  a  child  till  he  sees  and  acknowl- 
edges the  justice  of  the  punishment ;  and  second,  when  he 
sees  and  acknowledges  the  justice  of  the  punishment,  he 
does  n't  need  it.  Thus  the  doctrine  of  the  rod  is  crowded 
out  entirely.  There  are  no  circumstances  under  which  it 
is  proper  to  use  it. 

The  object  of  all  training  is  to  develop  character,  and 
not  merely  to  secure  outward  obedience.  A  child  may  be 
a  model  of  obedience,  and  yet  with  every  duty  which  he 
outwardly  performs  he  may  mingle  an  unuttered  curse. 

With  a  horse  or  dog  the  prime  object  is  to  secure  out- 
ward obedience.  We  care  but  little  about  the  moral  char- 
acter or  the  spiritual  destiny  of  our  horse,  so  long  as  he 
obeys  the  whip  and  stops  when  we  say  "whoa!"  But 
what  parent  could  say  this  of  a  child!  The  true  mother 
cares  less  for  the  outward  act  than  for  the  inward.  It  is 
not  so  much  her  object  to  make  the  child  obey  her  com- 
mands as  it  is  to  make  him  obey  the  commands  of  his  own 
conscience  and  the  spur  of  duty.  If  the  child  is  inter- 
nally obedient  to  his  own  conscience,  he  will  develop  a 
noble  character  even  though  he  should  disobey  every  pa- 
rental command. 

Let  every  parent  remember  that  there  may  be  a  vast 
difference  between  outward  and  inward  obedience,  and 
that  either  may  exist  without  the  other.  The  child  may 
not  cherish  any  feelings  of  hatred  toward  his  parents,  nor 
have  any  definite  sense  of  rebellion,  yet  if  he  obeys  simply 


HOME  TRAINING.  63 

because  he  fears  to  disobey,  while  he  cannot  feel  that  the 
command  is  just,  he  experiences,  only  in  a  less  degree,  all 
those  evil  results  that  come  from  harboring  the  sentiments 
of  hatred  and  revenge.  This  obedience  is  outward  and 
not  inward. 

But  how  shall  the  stubborn  boy  be  trained  who  seems 
incapable  of  responding  to  any  other  appeal  than  that  of 
the  rod  ?  Let  us  suppose  a  case,  the  most  difficult  that 
we  can  conceive,  and  see  if  there  are  any  points  where  our 
doctrine  would  fail  in  practice.  Suppose  a  mother  re- 
quests her  boy  to  go  to  a  neighbor's  house  on  an  errand. 
The  boy  wishes  to  play  ball  and  stubbornly  refuses  to  go. 
What  shall  that  mother  do  ?  "  Give  him  a  good  sound 
thrashing,"  the  Puritan  mother  would  say.  But  even  if  she 
can  do  it  now,  she  will  certainly  lack  the  physical  power 
in  a  short  time,  and  then  what  shall  she  do  ?  "  Turn  him 
over  to  his  father,"  some  one  may  say.  A  year  or  two 
more  will  place  him  beyond  the  authority  of  his  father, 
then  what  is  to  be  done?  Here  the  resources  of  the 
"  rod "  school  become  exhausted.  He  has  defied  the  au- 
thority of  force,  and  has  triumphed.  The  rod  system,  like 
some  systems  of  medicine,  works  well  in  those  cases  which 
need  no  doctoring.  As  a  rule  the  rod  arouses  the  very 
passion  which  led  to  the  commission  of  the  offense,  the 
very  one  we  wish  to  allay.  The  secret  of  governing  a 
child  is  to  soothe  those  faculties  whose  unrestrained  ac- 
tion gave  rise  to  the  offense,  and  at  the  same  time  to  call 


64  OUR  HOME. 

into  action  the  restraining  faculties,  those  which  would 
have  prevented  the  commission  of  the  offense  had  they 
acted  at  the  time.  One  of  the  principal  restraining  facul- 
ties is  conscience,  or  the  sense  of  obligation.  Now  all  are 
supposed  to  possess  this  faculty  in  some  degree.  Those 
who  do  not,  are  morally  deformed ;  they  are  monstrosities, 
and  their  treatment  involves  something  more  than  the  sub- 
ject of  "home  training."  We  are  not  giving  directions 
for  the  management  of  the  insane,  nor  the  morally  idiotic, 
but  for  the  management,  training  and  development  of 
those  who  are  fit  to  be  entrusted  with  their  own  freedom, 
those  who  are  free  agents  and  who  are  capable  of  becom- 
ing men  and  women. 

Now  let  us  see  how  this  doctrine  will  work  with  the 
stubborn  boy  we  have  just  supposed.  He  of  course  is 
under  the  influence  of  anger,  the  very  passion  which  the 
mother  would  excite  still  more  if  she  were  to  attempt  to 
punish  him.  Hence  she  must  cool  this  passion  by  arous- 
ing the  sense  of  obligation.  Let  her  appeal  to  his  honor. 
He  has  honor,  but  it  is  suppressed  for  the  time  by  anger. 
He  loves  his  mother  unless  he  is  a  fit  subject  for  the  peni- 
tentiary, and  in  that  case  he  does  not  come  within  the 
jurisdiction  of  any  system  of  home  training.  A  system 
must  be  devised  expressly  for  him.  Perhaps  it  may  be  ad- 
visable for  her  to  do  the  thing  herself  which  she  has  com- 
manded the  boy  to  do,  or  perhaps  it  may  be  well  to  call 
his  sister  and  send  her  on  the  errand,  with  the  understand- 


HOME  TRAINING.  65 

ing  that  it  is  not  just  for  her  to  be  compelled  to  do  it. 
When  he  remembers  that  his  little  sister  has  performed  a 
duty  that  was  not  hers  but  his,  he  will  feel  a  little  uncom- 
fortable in  the  region  of  conscience.  He  should  be  re- 
minded, perhaps,  during  the  evening,  that  he  is  under 
moral  obligation  to  another  who  has  performed  a  duty 
that  he  refused  to  perform.  It  should  be  talked  of  for  a 
long  time,  and  his  conscience  should  not  be  allowed  to 
rest  till  he  has  paid  the  moral  debt.  No  precise  rule 
can  be  given  as  to  the  way  in  which  his  conscience  should 
be  appealed  to  in  every  instance.  Circumstances  may 
vary  so  that  any  attempt  at  this  would  be  impracticable. 
The  mother  should  be  so  well  acquainted  with  the  nature 
of  the  child  as  to  be  able  to  appeal  to  any  sentiment  at 
will,  under  any  and  every  varying  circumstance. 

Some  may  object  to  this  because  it  defers  obedience  too 
long.  But  a  disobedient,  ungrateful  and  stubborn  boy 
should  be  regarded  by  parents  as  a  misfortune,  and  they 
should  be  happy  if  they  succeed  in  securing  obedience  at 
all,  even  if  it  requires  days  to  secure  obedience  to  a  single 
command.  But  if  this  method  is  practiced  with  the  child 
from  his  infancy,  he  will  not  become  a  disobedient  and 
stubborn  boy.  We  have  supposed  an  extreme  case  in 
order  to  anticipate  and  fortify  ourselves  against  the  argu- 
ment arising  from  such  cases. 

But  we  are  well  aware  that  many  a  good  old  mother 
who  has  wielded  the  rod  for  thirty  years,  will,  in  her  just 

5 


66  OUR  HOME. 

egotism,  point  to  her  noble  sons  and  daughters  as  a  trium- 
phant refutation  of  these  views  which  she  will  be  pleased 
to  call  trash.  Nor  would  we  disregard  the  well-earned 
practical  knowledge  of  these  grand  women.  Their  egotism 
is  pardonable.  Yet  we  shall  modestly  claim  that  they  are 
liable  to  be  mistaken  in  some  of  tlieir  views  of  life,  and 
when  they  oppose  our  doctrine  and  style  it  theory,  we 
shall  reply  that  the  doctrine  of  moral  accountability  is  a 
theory,  but  it  is  one  that  appeals  so  strongly  to  the  com- 
mon sense  and  intuition  of  mankind  as  to  be  independent 
of  the  argument  of  actual  experience. 

We  would  not  contend  that  injudicious  training  is  sure 
to  spoil  a  child,  neither  will  the  wisest  training  always 
serve  to  develop  a  noble  character.  The  children  of  noble 
mothers  will  sometimes  be  noble  in  spite  of  wrong  train- 
ing. Men  have  developed  powerful  lungs  who  through 
their  whole  lives  have  breathed  hardly  a  breath  of  pure  air. 
Men  have  had  strong  digestion  who  have  abused  their 
stomachs,  and  intemperate  men  have  died  of  old  age.  But 
these  are  the  exceptions  and  not  the  rule.  For  one  who 
desires  to  live  a  long  life  it  would  not  be  safe  to  be  intem- 
perate simply  because  a  few  have  lived  to  be  old  in  spite 
of  intemperance.  Neither  is  it  safe  to  follow  a  wrong  sys- 
tem of  training  because  some  mothers  of  the  rod  persua- 
sion have  reared  a  family  of  noble  children.  Such  mothers 
transmit  to  their  children  healthy  bodies  and  sound  minds 
and  good  morals,  and  they  would  have  developed  into 


HOME  TRAINING.  67 

noble  men  and  women  under  almost  any  system  of  train- 
ing. Besides,  the  occasions  for  punishing  such  children 
occur  at  intervals  so  rare  that  little  injury  can  result. 

In  the  training  of  the  child,  physical  culture  should  pre- 
cede all  other  kinds ;  next  should  follow  the  training  of 
the  affections.  He  should  be  taught  to  love  only  the  good 
and  to  hate  all  that  is  bad.  After  this  the  intellect  should 
be  trained.  Not  however  by  sending  him  to  school  to  sit 
all  day  on  a  hard  scat  where  his  feet  cannot  touch  the  floor, 
and  where  he  learns  to  say  "A."  Little  children  are  usu- 
ally sent  to  school  when  they  should  be  romping  through 
the  woods  and  pastures.  Of  course  we  do  not  condemn 
the  common  school  system,  yet  there  are  many  features  of 
it  which  tend  greatly  to  neutralize  the  good.  It  were  in- 
finitely better  for  the  race  to  live  in  barbaric  ignorance 
with  sound  and  healthy  bodies,  than  in  the  grandest  civil- 
ization with  bodily  weakness  and  physical  impotency ;  for 
a  barbaric  race  may  become  civilized,  but  a  race  of  physi- 
cal weaklings  is  doomed  to  extinction.  And  it  cannot  be 
denied  that  the  common  schools,  especially  in  the  city,  are 
rapidly  sapping  the  physical  stamina  of  the  civilized  world, 
and  this  is  especially  true  in  hot-headed  America. 

Children  should  be  educated  at  home  by  the  parents  ; 
at  least  till  they  are  well  developed  physically.  It  is  safe 
to  send  a  boy  to  school  when  he  has  become  so  strong 
physically  that  no  teacher  can  suppress  his  buoyancy  and 
make  a  man  of  him. 


68  OUR  HOME. 

Studiousness  on  the  part  of  young  boys  and  girls  should 
be  regarded  by  parents  as  a  more  dangerous  symptom  than 
hemorrhage  of  the  lungs.  Indeed,  these  are  often  symp- 
toms of  the  same  disease. 

There  are  many  and  strong  arguments  for  educating 
children  at  home.  In  the  first  place,  the  mother  is  the 
natural  teacher  of  the  child.  The  eagle  does  not  send  her 
little  ones  to  school  to  learn  to  fly,  nor  does  she  employ  a 
governess,  but  chooses  to  perform  the  duty  herself.  The 
spiritual  sympathy  between  mother  and  child  enables  the 
mother  to  minister  to  the  individual  wants  of  the  child  as 
no  other  teacher  can.  There  are  locked  chambers  in  every 
human  soul,  but  in  the  child's  there  are  none  to  which  the 
mother  does  not  hold  the  key. 

The  public  school  tends  to  destroy  the  individuality  of 
the  pupil,  to  crush  out  all  his  originality  and  force  his 
mind,  whatever  may  be  its  natural  tendency,  into  the  com- 
mon channel.  Civilization  tends  directly  toward  physical 
and  mental  diversity,  and  individual  peculiarities,  but  the 
public  school  does  not  recognize  this  fact. 

Low  down  in  the  scale  of  life  we  notice  but  little  diver- 
sity. A  flock  of  birds  seem  all  alike.  We  cannot  detect 
any  difference  between  two  foxes  of  the  same  age  and  sex, 
but  dogs  and  horses  differ,  because  for  ages  they  have  been 
under  the  modifying  influences  of  man  until  their  condi- 
tion corresponds  to  that  of  the  civilization  of  man.  In 
the  early  ages  men  differed  from  one  another  far  less  than 


HOME  TRAINING.  G9 

they  do  at  present.  Civilization  and  a  tendency  to  diver- 
sity are  so  closely  dependent  on  common  causes  that  what- 
ever hinders  the  one  hinders  also  the  other.  Of  course 
we  would  not  contend  that  the  common  schools  retard 
civilization,  although  in  this  respect  they  certainly  have  a 
tendency  to  retard  it. 

In  the  public  schools  all  are  compelled  to  take  the 
same  course,  regardless  of  their  individual  peculiarities 
of  talent.  If  a  pupil  is  by  nature  poorly  endowed  with 
the  mathematical  talent,  he  must  go  through  just  as  fast 
but  no  slower  than  the  others.  The  explanations  that 
suffice  for  those  who  are  mathematically  inclined  must 
suffice  for  him  also.  No  provision  is  made  for  taste  or 
talent. 

But  this  is  not  the  case  when  the  children  are  educated 
at  home.  Every  peculiarity  of  talent  may  be  provided  for. 
Then  there  is  a  great  source  of  pleasure  in  the  education 
of  one's  own  children.  It  tends  to  perpetuate  the  author- 
ity which  parents  ought  to  have  over  their  children.  If 
the  child  has  been  educated  by  his  parent  he  will  never 
cease  to  have  the  highest  respect  for  that  parent.  This  is 
a  strong  reason  why  parents  should  educate  themselves 
and  keep  pace  with  their  children  in  all  their  studies ;  for 
although  dutiful  children  will  always  respect  their  parents 
however  ignorant  they  may  be,  yet  intelligent  parents, 
those  capable  of  instructing  their  children,  will  be  re- 
spected still  more.     Then,  if  for  no  other  reason,  the  chil- 


70  OUR  HOME. 

dren  should  be  educated  at  home,  to  maintain  the  authority 
of  the  parent  and  the  respect  of  the  child. 

Let  the  mothers  of  our  country,  as  far  as  possible,  pat- 
tern after  that  mother  who  not  only  trained  the  bodies  of 
her  boys  and  made  them  physical  heroes,  but  trained  their 
affections  and  made  them  moral  heroes.  Nor,  indeed,  did 
her  care  cease  here  !  She  has  trained  them  intellectually, 
fitted  them  for  college,  and  sent  them  forth  to  meet  on 
life's  arena  those  intellectual  heroes  who  have  been  trained 
at  the  hands  of  honored  masters. 

Men  shall  feel  in  this  a  beauty  and  a  pathos  to  the  end 
of  time,  whenever  the  historian  shall  turn  for  a  moment 
from  the  crimson  pictures  of  national  strife  to  narrate  the 
simple  story.  Can  those  boys  ever  cease  to  respect  that 
mother?    Can  they  ever  cease  to  reverence  her  very  name? 

Perhaps  it  is  not  generally  known  that  we  worship  God 
with  the  same  faculty  with  which  we  honor  our  parents. 
Now  the  children  of  such  mothers  as  we  have  considered 
must  feel  perpetually  a  sense  of  honor  and  parental  rever- 
ence. This  strengthens  and  develops  the  faculty  with 
which  God  is  worshiped.  Hence  we  see  why  the  children 
of  such  parents  are  usually  religious.  The  unwritten  life 
of  one  such  woman  is  a  stronger  argument  than  all  the 
silver  irony  of  prostituted  genius. 

There  are,  of  course,  but  few  mothers  or  fathers  who  can 
fit  their  boys  or  girls  for  college,  and  this  is  not  necessary 
in  order  to  apply  the  doctrine  we  have  advocated.     There 


HOME  TRAINING.  71 

are  but  few  boys  and  girls  who  go  to  college.  Nor  is  it 
necessary  to  keep  the  children  home  from  school.  The 
mother  can  superintend  the  education  of  a  child  even 
while  he  is  in  school.  The  teacher's  function  should  be 
something  more  than  merely  listening  to  the  recitation  of 
the  pupil.  But  this  is  nearly  all  that  the  average  teacher 
does.  Hence  the  mother  has  a  wide  field  even  while  her 
child  is  in  the  public  school. 

There  seems  to  be  a  growing  tendency  on  the  part  of 
mothers  to  entrust  the  training  of  their  children  to  the 
hands  of  hired  nurses.  This  is  a  great  error.  In  the  first 
place,  its  breaks  the  current  of  divine  magnetism  between 
mother  and  child  which  ought  to  make  the  mental  pulses 
of  both  beat  in  unison.  Again,  it  has  a  tendency  to  dimin- 
ish filial  reverence  in  the  child.  By  separating  him  from 
his  mother  at  that  tender  age  in  which  the  links  of  the 
eternal  chain  should  be  forged,  we  render  it  almost  impos- 
sible for  him  to  love  her  as  he  ought.  This  is  not  to  be 
wondered  at,  for  the  modern  fashionable  mother  sees  her 
child  only  as  a  visitor  would  see  it.  The  child  must  be 
dressed  up  as  if  to  entertain  strangers,  and  when  he  begins 
to  cry  he  is  carried  away  at  once  by  the  nurse,  while  the 
mother  makes  another  appointment.  Perhaps  one  of  the 
most  striking  manifestations  of  God's  mercy  to  the  race  is 
seen  in  the  fact  that  comparatively  few  offspring  are  born 
of  such  women — if  the  license  of  literature  will  permit  us 
to  use  the  word  woman  in  this  connection.     Better  a  thou- 


72  OUR  HOME. 

sand  times  that  the  world  should  be  populated  from  the 
slums  than  from  such  sources. 

"  The  mother  in  her  office  holds  the  key 
Of  the  soul ;  and  she  it  is  who  stamps  the  coin 
Of  character,  and  makes  the  being  who  would  be  a  savage 
But  for  her  gentle  care,  a  Christian  man." 


REWARDS   AND    PUNISHMENTS. 


HE  rewards  and  punishments  of  home  should 
be  analogous  to  those,  if  not  identical  with 
them,  which  God  has  already  instituted  as 
natural  rewards  and  punishments.  There 
should  be  little  or  nothing  artificial  in  the 
rewards  or  punishments  of  home. 

If  a  child  is  bribed  to  do  his  duty  by  some 
promise  of  reward,  he  is  likely  to  acquire  the 
fatal  habit  of  performing  virtuous  acts  from 
low  motives.  The  approval  of  conscience  is 
the  natural  reward  for  the  performance  of 
one's  duty.  If  an  artificial  reward  is  substi- 
tuted for  this,  the  motive  is  transferred  from 
conscience  to  some  selfish  faculty,  and  the 
whole  moral  character  becomes  depraved. 
Hence  no  reward  should  ever  be  given  for 
the  mere  performance  of  duty  when  it  is 
B  clear  to  the  child   that  it  is  his  duty.      In 

some  cases  where  the  desired  act  seems  to  be 
an  act  of  self-sacrifice  on  the  part  of  the  child,  and  one 
which  he  does  not  understand  to  be  particularly  his  duty, 
it  is  perfectly  right  and  often  wise  to  offer  rewards.     But 


' 


74  OUR  HOME. 

if  he  is  hired  to  do  those  things  which  his  own  conscience 
plainly  tells  him  he  ought  to  do,  he  will  learn  to  act  in 
such  cases  from  the  motive  of  the  reward,  and  not  from 
that  of  conscience.  But  during  this  time  conscience  must 
lie  idle  for  want  of  something  to  do,  and  God  never  lets  a 
talent  lie  in  a  napkin  without  depreciating.  Although 
conscience  might  have  prompted  him  to  the  same  act,  yet 
if  it  be  not  the  determining  motive  he  cannot  experience 
the  approval  of  conscience.  Conscience  deals  with  mo- 
tives, not  with  acts,  and,  like  every  other  function  of  our 
being,  grows  by  exercise.  The  food  of  conscience  is  its 
own  approval,  and  in  order  to  secure  its  approval  it  must 
afford  the  ruling  motive. 

Whenever  a  reward  is  offered,  an  appeal  should  not  be 
made  at  the  same  time  to  the  sense  of  duty.  It  should 
pass  simply  as  a  trade,  and  the  child  should  not  be  re- 
minded that  there  is  any  right  or  wrong  about  it.  These 
are  the  only  circumstances  under  which  it  is  proper  to 
offer  a  reward  to  a  child. 

We  would  not  have  it  understood,  however,  that  re- 
wards should  be  given  only  for  those  acts  which  con- 
science cannot  approve.  Such  acts,  of  course,  should 
never  be  required  nor  performed  at  all.  Rewards  should 
be  offered  only  for  good  deeds,  those  which  the  conscience 
of  the  child,  if  it  were  to  act  at  all,  would  approve.  All 
we  mean  is  simply  that  a  base  reward  should  never  be 
made  to  supplement  conscience  in  such  a  way  as  to  be- 


REWARDS  AND  PUNISHMENTS.  ?5 

come  the  ruling  motive.  If  it  be  found  that  conscience  is 
acting  at  all,  do  not  offer  a  reward  to  complete  the  motive 
and  make  it  strong  enough  to  rule  his  act,  but  try  to  stim- 
ulate conscience  to  a  still  higher  degree  of  action,  until  its 
motive  becomes  sufficient  of  itself  to  produce  the  desired 
result. 

As  a  rule  the  reward  when  given  should  appeal  to  the 
mental  rather  than  the  physical.  It  should  be  something 
which  has  a  tendency  to  stimulate  the  thinking  or  invent- 
ive powers  rather  than  something  which  merely  satisfies 
a  physical  want.  It  is  generally  better  to  give  a  book 
than  a  drum,  although  there  are  far  meaner  rewards  than 
a  drum.  Candy  and  sweetmeats  should  never  under  any 
circumstances  be  offered.  That  which  is  unfit  for  an 
adult  is  surely  unfit  to  constitute  a  reward  for  a  child.  It 
is  a  fact  that  the  world  makes  its  greatest  efforts  in  re- 
sponse to  the  demands  of  sensual  gratification.  Is  it  un- 
reasonable to  suppose  that  the  foundation  of  this  evil  is 
laid  in  childhood  through  the  pernicious  practice  of  re- 
warding children  with  sweetmeats  ? 

A  toy  steam  engine  or  some  machine  which  will  stimu- 
late the  constructive  or  inventive  faculty  is,  perhaps,  the 
most  appropriate  present  which  can  be  given  to  a  boy. 

There  are  circumstances,  however,  under  which  it 
would  be  improper  to  give  such  gifts.  In  case  the  child 
is  already  too  much  inclined  to  mental  activity,  no  present 
should  be  given  which  will  farther  stimulate  the  intellect. 


76  OUR  HOME. 

At  the  present  time  there  are  many  cases  of  this  kind,  es- 
pecially in  the  cities.  For  such  precocious  children  a  cart 
or  sled  or  a  pair  of  skates  would  be  a  far  more  appropriate 
gift  than  a  book  or  even  a  steam  engine. 

But  the  worst  and  most  injurious  practice  connected 
with  the  subject  of  rewards  and  punishments  is  that  of 
bribing  children  with  promises  that  are  never  meant  to  be 
fulfilled.  It  happens  in  many  cases  that  this  is  the  child's 
first  lesson  in  falsehood.  All  promises  made  to  children 
should  be  conscientiously  fulfilled,  for  the  whole  life  and 
character  of  the  child  may  be  changed  by  a  single  repudi- 
ated promise.  Let  no  parent  assume  the  fearful  responsi- 
bility of  giving  his  child  the  first  lesson  in  dishonesty. 

The  punishments  of  home  should  be,  as  far  as  possible, 
natural'.  They  should  consist  chiefly  if  not  wholly  in 
pointing  out  and  making  a  direct  application  of  the  same 
kind  of  punishment  which  nature  herself  inflicts  for  the 
same  offense. 

For  instance,  the  natural  punishment  which  Nature  has 
appended  to  the  sin  of  falsehood  is  the  suspicion  and  dis- 
trust of  our  fellow  men.  Hence  when  a  child  tells  a  false- 
hood, he  should  be  made  to  feel  that  he  has  done  that  for 
which  he  deserves  the  suspicion  of  the  whole  family.  All 
eyes  should  be  turned  upon  him  with  a  pitying  distrust. 

Nature's  punishment  for  selfishness  is  a  withdrawal  of 
the  sympathy  and  love  of  society,  and  in  addition  thereto 
the  defeat  of  its  own  ends.    Selfishness  is  always  defeated  in 


REWARDS  AND  PUNISHMENTS.  77 

the  end.  Hence  when  a  child  has  encroached  upon  the 
rights  of  his  brothers  or  sisters  through  selfishness,  the 
sympathy  of  the  family  should  be  withdrawn,  while  at  the 
same  time  he  should  be  prevented  from  reaping  the  bene- 
fit which  he  anticipated  from  his  selfish  act.  The  other 
children  should  be  made  to  feel  that  he  is  actually  unwor- 
thy of  their  society.  In  certain  cases,  perhaps,  he  should  be 
banished  from  the  society  of  the  family  and  even  shut  up 
in  his  room,  as  a  severer  punishment  and  as  a  more  direct 
and  literal  application  of  that  principle  which  is  involved 
in  the  banishment  to  which  society  always  dooms  the  self- 
ish man.  God  has  made  society  on  such  a  plan  that  it 
cannot  tolerate  selfishness.  He  has  also  arranged  our  na- 
ture so  that  the  very  best  thing  for  the  selfish  man  is  to 
have  society  shun  him.  It  is  the  medicine  that  will  cure 
him  if  he  is  curable. 

Now  is  it  not  safe  to  follow  God's  method  in  punishing 
the  child  for  selfishness  at  home  ?  Who  will  come  so  near 
to  challenging  the  wisdom  of  God  as  to  style  this  "  idle 
theory  "  ?  If  the  child  be  defeated  in  his  selfish  purpose 
by  the  parent,  and  he  is  banished  for  an  hour  or  a  day,  as 
the  case  may  be,  from  the  sympathy  of  the  family,  he  will 
come  to  feel  by  no  process  of  logic,  perhaps,  but  by  the 
force  of  habit  and  association,  that  such  conduct  on  the 
part  of  others  is  the  necessary  and  inevitable  accompani- 
ment of  his  selfishness,  that,  it  is  founded  in  the  everlasting 
relations  of  his  social  nature.     When  he  becomes  a  man  he 


78  OUR  HOME, 

will  receive  the  same  kind  of  punishment  from  society  if 
he  still  persists  in  his  selfishness.  He  will  then  perceive 
that  the  punishment  is  rational  and  inevitable,  and  that 
the  relation  between  it  and  the  offense  is  constant  and  nec- 
essary. If  any  other  method  is  pursued  the  child  will  in 
the  course  of  his  life  be  subjected  to  two  kinds  of  punish- 
ment for  the  same  offense,  one  an  arbitrary  and  the  other 
a  natural  one.  The  human  mind  is  unable  to  perceive  any 
necessary  relation  between  the  crime  of  selfishness  and  the 
pain  inflicted  by  an  angry  parent  with  a  birch  stick. 
There  is  no  logical  relation  between  them,  and  as  a  natural 
consequence  the  child  rebels,  at  least  spiritually,  and 
hence  is  made  more  selfish  than  before.  He  will  be  more 
and  more  selfish  as  he  grows  older,  and  when  he  comes  to 
receive  the  natural  punishment  from  society  for  his  sin,  he 
will  rebel  against  that  from  the  mere  force  of  habit.  He 
will  come  to  hate  society.  He  will  be  cold  and  cynical. 
He  will  come  to  entertain  a  morbid  sentiment  of  ill  will 
toward  society,  and,  spurred  on  by  the  feeling  that  the 
world  owes  him  a  debt,  he  may  be  led  to  commit  some 
dark  and  dreadful  crime  against  his  fellowmen.  It  is  not 
impossible  that  a  large  per  cent,  of  the  pirates,  robbers, 
and  murderers  are  such  because  of  the  unwise  and  illogical 
relation  between  the  offenses  and  punishments  of  their 
childhood. 

One   has  truthfully  said,  "  Caprice  or  violence  in   cor- 
recting will  go  far  to  justify  the  transgressor  in  his  own 


REWARDS  AND  PUNISHMENTS.  79 

eyes  at  least ;  he  will  consider  every  appearance  of  injus- 
tice as  a  vindication  of  his  own  aggression."  Who  has  not 
seen  a  confirmation  of  this  among  school  boys  ?  Often  a 
boy  is  whipped  by  a  teacher  when  if  properly  managed  he 
would  willingly  express  his  sorrow  for  the  offense.  But 
after  the  whipping  he  goes  sullenly  to  his  seat  muttering 
to  himself,  "I'm  glad  I  did  it."  He  is  glad  he  did  it 
because  he  feels  that  his  teacher  has  wronged  him,  and 
that  in  a  certain  sense  the  offense  which  he  himself  has 
committed  makes  them  even.  Human  beings,  and  espe- 
cially children,  when  under  the  influence  of  anger,  are  not 
very  reasonable,  and  are  not  inclined  to  take  very  impar- 
tial views  of  subjects. 

But  it  may  be  said  that  he  ought  to  look  at  it  differ- 
ently;  that  he  has  no  right  to  look  at  it  so  partially;  that 
the  case  is  plain  if  he  will  look  at  it  rightly.  Very  well, 
but  if  he  doesn't  look  at  it  rightly,  the  facts  of  the  case 
are  of  no  benefit  to  him,  and  he  receives  all  the  injurious 
results  to  his  moral  nature  that  he  would  receive  if  the 
facts  were  on  the  other  side  of  the  case. 

There  is  no  possible  human  act  that  is  not  right  or 
wrong  ;  if  right  it  is  self  rewarding,  and  if  wrong  it  is  self- 
punishing.  It  is  the  function  of  human  authority  to  teach 
the  transgressor  wherein  his  transgressions  punish  them- 
selves. 

"  A  picture  memory  brings  to  me: 
I  look  across  the  years  and  see 
Myself  beside  my  mother's  knee. 


80  OUR  HOME. 

" 1  feel  her  gentle  hand  restrain 
My  selfish  moods,  and  know  again 
A  child's  blind  sense  of  wrong  and  pain. 

u  But  wiser  now,  a  man  gray  grown, 
My  childhood's  needs  are  better  known, 
My  mother's  chastening  love  I  own. 

"  Gray  grown,  but  in  our  Father's  sight 
A  child  still  groping  for  the  light 
To  read  his  works  and  ways  aright. 

"  I  bow  myself  beneath  his  hand; 
That  pain  itself  for  good  was  planned, 
I  trust,  but  cannot  understand. 

"  I  fondly  dream  it  needs  must  be, 
That  as  my  mother  dealt  with  me, 
So  with  his  children  deaieth  he. 

"  I  wait,  and  trust  the  end  will  prove 
That  here  and  there,  below,  above, 
The  chastening  heals,  the  pain  is  love! " 


E  M  E  M  T  S  , 


AMUSEMENTS  FOR  THE  HOME. 


iHE  human  mind  demands  amusement.  One 
of  its  constituent  elements  is  a  love  of  fun. 
No  innate  demand  of  the  mind  can  be  denied 
without  injury.  Amusement  and  fun  are  as 
*  essential  to  the  growth  and  development  of 
the  young  mind  as  sleep,  or  any  form  of 
exercise.  Hence  we  have  no  sympathy 
with  that  system  of  home  government 
which  suppresses  this  element  in  the  chil- 
dren. Such  systems  are  suicidal,  and  one 
can  hardly  help  doubting  the  genuineness 
of  that  religion  that  imposes  perpetual 
melancholy  as  one  of  its  tenets.  It  has 
been  said  that  Christ  never  was  known  to 
laugh  but  often  to  weep,  and  if  he  foresaw  the  existence 
of  that  creed  that  suppresses  laughter  as  one  of  the  cardi- 
nal vices,  it  is  no  wonder  that  he  never  laughed.  But 
there  is  no  evidence  that  he  did  not  laugh.  The  character 
of  his  mission  was  such  as  to  render  any  record  of  his 
lighter  moments  entirely  out  of  place.  It  is,  however,  a 
well  known  fact  that  Christ  was  of  a  thoughtful,  serious 

6 


OUR  HOME. 

cast  of  mind,  and  even  if  it  could  be  proved  that  he  never 
laughed,  the  fact  would  have  no  weight  as  an  argument 
against  laughter  among  us.  We  are  not  expected  nor 
required  to  follow  his  example  in  all  things,  for  this  would 
be  impossible.  Marriage  is  a  divine  institution  and  im- 
poses obligations  upon  us  from  which  Christ  by  virtue  of 
his  nature  and  work  was  exempted. 

Were  it  not  for  the  superstitious  folly  of  so  many  peo- 
ple, what  we  have  said  on  this  phase  of  the  subject  would 
be  entirely  superfluous.  Probably  but  few  Christian  peo- 
ple at  the  present  day  would  openly  acknowledge  that  they 
have  conscientious  scruples  against  laughter,  yet  there  are 
thousands  of  stern  fathers  who  virtually  suppress  all  laugh- 
ter in  their  homes,  as  a  religious  duty.  They  would  not 
acknowledge  to  themselves  even  that  they  believe  laughter 
to  be  wrong  in  the  abstract,  and  yet  somehow  or  other 
they  manage  to  resolve  every  occasion  for  laughter  into 
something  that  ought  to  be  suppressed. 

It  is  the  duty  of  the  parents  to  make  home  pleasant  and 
agreeable,  and  even  to  furnish  occasions  for  merriment  and 
fun,  as  much  as  it  is  to  furnish  food  and  shelter.  Children 
should  not  be  required  to  remain  quiet  and  sedate  during 
the  long  evenings  simply  because  the  stern  father  wishes 
to  read  the  newspaper.  If  he  wishes  to  read  aloud  some- 
thing that  would  be  interesting  to  the  children,  it  is  proper 
to  do  so.  All  parents  should  consider  themselves  under 
obligations  to  furnish  at  least  one  paper  or  magazine  ex- 


AMUSEMENTS  FOR  THE  HOME.  83 

pressly  for  the  children.  Not  one  of  the  ponderous  and 
somber  journals  of  Zion,  but  one  full  of  light  jokes,  inter- 
esting stories,  and  such  information  as  children  desire  and 
can  appreciate.  Of  course  the  father  and  mother  are  to  be 
allowed  time  to  read  their  religious  and  political  papers, 
and  their  scientific  books;  but  the  children's  right  in  this 
respect  must  not  be  encroached  upon.  It  will  not  hurt 
the  father  or  mother  to  read  aloud  from  the  "  Youth's 
Companion  "  or  some  other  paper  of  similar  character,  or, 
perhaps,  what  is  better  still,  they  can  lay  aside  their  own 
paper  and  listen  and  be  interested  while  one  of  the  older 
children  is  reading. 

Reading  aloud  by  parents  and  children  is  one  of  the 
most  useful  sources  of  amusement  in  every  home.  In  addi- 
tion to  the  amusement,  valuable  information  would  be  ob- 
tained, also  healthful  vocal  exercise  and  elocutionary  drill. 

Another  source  of  amusement,  peculiarly  appropriate 
for  the  home,  and  one  of  which  we  never  tire,  is  music. 
The  money  spent  for  a  musical  instrument  is  not  thrown 
away.  Every  home  should  contain  some  such  instrument, 
and  there  are  but  few  families  that  cannot  afford  a  piano 
or  an  organ.  There  is  something  in  the  nature  of  music 
that  tends  to  evolve  harmony  in  the  hearts  of  those  who 
jointly  produce  it  or  listen  to  it.  There  is  something  of 
philosophy  in  the  oft  quoted  words  of  Shakespeare : 

"  The  man  that  hath  no  music  in  himself, 
Nor  is  not  moved  by  concord  of  sweet  sounds, 
Is  fit  for  treasons,  stratagems,  and  spoils." 


84  OUR  HOME. 

It  is  probable,  however,  that  the  author  used  this  word 
music  in  the  broadest  sense  of  poesy,  yet  even  in  its 
restricted  sense  there  is  the  semblance  of  truth.  The 
world  presents  us  with  many  examples  of  grand  and  noble 
souls  that  are  deaf  to  the  pleadings  of  the  harp,  and  yet 
the  fact  remains  untouched  that  music  is  the  language  of 
the  highest  souls.  Eloquence  holds  a  wand  for  the  soul's 
lofty  moods,  and  yet  there  is  an  altitude  in  whose  rarefied 
atmosphere  the  soul  is  dumb,  and  in  the  frenzy  of  despair 
seizes  the  harp  and  the  viol.  From  these  spiritual  beati- 
tudes on  whose  hushed  summits  the  veil  is  rolled  back, 
there  comes  no  message  save  in  wordless  strains. 

We  cannot  stand  beside  a  friend  in  the  presence  of 
music  without  feeling  the  ties  grow  stronger.  The  spirit's 
invisible  arms  clasp  each  other.  Neither  can  we  stand  be- 
side an  enemy  without  feeling  the  timbers  of  hatred  that 
have  braced  our  souls  apart,  give  way,  and  before  we  are 
aware  our  spirit  proclaims  him  friend. 

How  peculiarly  appropriate,  then,  as  a  home  amuse- 
ment, is  music.  As  well  might  you  drive  love  from  home 
as  to  exclude  music.  Let  the  boys  learn  to  play  the  vio- 
lin ;  and  let  the  girls  play  the  organ  or  piano.  Let  the 
home  be  a  perpetual  temple  of  song. 

A  silent  home,  where  there  is  no  music  nor  reading  and 
but  little  conversation,  is  a  dull  and  sad  place  for  the 
young.  Children  do  not  like  to  stay  long  in  those  places 
where  their   only  entertainment   is  their   own   thoughts. 


AMUSEMENTS  FOR  THE  HOME,  85 

There  is  nothing  worse  for  a  child  than  subjective  think- 
ing, thinking  of  his  own  thoughts.  It  leads  to  habitual 
melancholy,  and  this  state  is  so  thoroughly  unnatural  for  a 
child  that  it  cannot  exist  without  enfeebling  both  mind 
and  body.  Those  who  commit  suicide  will  be  found  in 
almost  every  instance  to  be  those  who  were  led  to  sub- 
jective thinking  during  the  long  winter  evenings  of  their 
childhood. 

A  boy  cannot  maintain  health  of  body  without  laughter, 
merriment,  and  fun.  We  have  every  reason  to  believe 
that  a  lamb  would  not  maintain  its  bodily  health  and  grow 
to  be  a  mature  animal  if  it  were  prevented  from  running 
and  frolicking. 

Most  especially  does  the  feeling  of  merriment  assist  the 
digestive  function.  This  idea  is  already  prevalent  among 
the  people,  and  yet  there  is  too  little  abiding  faith  in  the 
medicinal  virtue  of  fun.  Our  meals  should  be  scenes  of 
uninterrupted  merriment.  It  is  a  fact  universally  ac- 
knowledged that  the  American  people  eat  too  rapidly  for 
the  good  of  their  health.  Now  there  is  nothing  that 
checks  rapid  eating  like  fun  and  merry  conversation. 
One  of  the  evils  of  Puritanism,  which  we  have  not  yet 
outgrown,  was  the  idea  that  cheerful  conversation  is  unbe- 
coming at  meals.  The  children  were  taught  to  eat  in  si- 
lence at  the  second  table,  under  the  awful  superintendence 
of  their  parents,  who  had  eaten  up  all  the  good  things. 
The  eating  up  of  the  good  things,  however,  was  not  half  so 


86  OUR  HOME. 

cruel  as  it  was  to  compel  them  to  put  on  long  faces,  and 
be  men  and  women,  and  eat  in  silence.  The  free  ventila- 
tion, the  hard  work,  and  the  simple  fare  which  they  en- 
joyed prevented  them  from  having  the  dyspepsia.  But 
we  cannot  tell  how  thoroughly  their  stomachs  and  livers 
were  prepared  by  such  treatment  at  meal  time,  to  give  the 
dyspepsia  to  the  next  generation.  It  is  not  at  all  an  ex- 
travagant belief,  that  much  of  the  dyspepsia  of  to-day  had 
its  remote  origin  among  the  Puritans  in  their  cruel  sup- 
pression of  childish  mirth  at  the  family  board.  There  are 
families  in  which  the  Puritanic  idea  is  still  prevalent,  that 
"  children  should  be  seen  but  not  heard."  We  have  no 
sympathy  with  that  doctrine.  Such  an  idea  could  have 
originated  only  in  parental  selfishness.  In  the  days  of  our 
grandfathers  the  children  were,  indeed,  pitiable  creatures. 
But  we  are  gradually  becoming  more  civilized  on  this 
point.  The  same  principle  in  human  nature  that  has 
given  rise  to  societies  for  the  u  prevention  of  cruelty  to  an- 
imals "  has  so  modified  our  sentiments  toward  children 
that  we  no  longer  regard  them  as  so  many  wild  beasts  put 
into  our  hands  to  be  tamed.  Children  are  now  allowed  to 
spend  most  of  their  time  in  the  pursuit  of  fun  and  to  laugh 
at  meals. 

Parents  should  mingle  with  their  children  in  their  sports 
and  games.  It  is  not  unbecoming  to  a  mother  or  a  father 
to  play  with  a  child,  but,  on  the  contrary,  it  is  quite  be- 
coming ;  and  in  so  doing  a  parent  is  discharging  one  of  the 


AMUSEMENTS  FOR  THE  HOME.  87 

highest  duties  that  have  been  imposed  upon  him.  This  is 
not  the  task  it  may  seem-  to  be.  Thetfe  is  something  in 
the  relation  of  parent  and  child  that  makes  the  parent 
take  positive  delight  in  that  which  delights  the  child. 
Every  mother  knows  this  to  be  true.  There  is  that  in  the 
experience  of  every  one  which  testifies  to  this.  We  all  feel 
an  interest  in  those  things  which  interest  the  ones  we  love. 
This  principle  has  an  influence  even  over  the  senses.  Ar- 
ticles of  food  which  we  do  not  ordinarily  like,  when  eaten 
in  the  presence  of  a  loved  one  who  does  like  them,  actu- 
ally become  savory  to  us.  We  are  made  by  this  principle 
to  fall  into  the  same  line  of  thought  and  feeling  with  those 
we  love.  And  hence  the  mother  experiences  almost  as 
much  delight  from  playing  with  a  cart  as  does  her  child. 
This  same  principle  doubtless  accounts  for  the  fact  that 
all  animals  play  with  their  young.  This  is  Nature's  argu- 
ment. The  cat  and  dog,  however  old  and  dignified,  al- 
most continually  play  with  their  young ;  so  does  the 
lion,  and  probably  all  wild  animals.  Animals  that  cannot 
by  any  other  possible  means,  be  induced  to  manifest  the 
slightest  degree  of  pla}Tfulness,  are  full,  or  appear  to  be 
full,  of  fun  and  frolic  while  rearing  their  young.  Do  not 
these  facts  proclaim  a  natural  law?  Playing  with  chil- 
dren is  a  subject  of  more  importance  than  most  people  are 
aware  of. 

The  oldest  of  a  family  of  children  often  has  a  bad  dispo- 
sition, and  it  is  doubtless  due  to  the  fact  that  it  had  no 


88  OUR  HOME. 

older  playmates.  It  seems  to  be  a  law  of  the  child's  na- 
ture that  in  order  to  properly  develop  he  requires  an  older 
playmate. 

The  younger  members  of  the  family  are  provided  for  in 
this  respect  by  the  older  ones,  and  accordingly  their  dispo- 
sitions are  better,  and  their  minds  are  usually  more  sym- 
metrically developed.  Now,  if  parents  would  heed  this 
law  and  become  the  intimate  associates  and  playmates  of 
their  children  while  they  are  young,  no  such  disparity  of 
disposition  and  character  would  be  found. 

The  chief  reason  why  so  many  children  become  dissatis- 
fied with  their  home  and  desire  to  leave  it  at  the  earliest 
possible  opportunity,  is  because  they  have  not  had  happy 
homes ;  and  unhappy  homes  are  seldom  looked  back  to 
with  tender  thoughts  in  after  years.  But  let  them  keep 
the  old  time  feeling  in  their  hearts  that  "  there's  no  place 
like  home,"  and  when  the  hour  of  reunion  draws  nigh  with 
its  glad  tidings  and  joyful  welcome  they  will  not  send 
the  cruel  telegram  of  two  words,  "  business  pressing,"  but 
will  come  with  open  hearts,  and  smiling  faces,  bringing 
back  again  the  same  feeling  that  they  carried  away,  that 
"  there's  no  place  like  home." 

But  children  are  not  the  only  beings  that  require  amuse- 
ments. All  require  it,  even  the  aged.  Absolute  rest  is 
not  the  thing  required  by  the  father  when  he  comes  home 
from  the  shop,  the  office,  or  the  store.  Human  beings 
need  but  very  little  of  that  kind  of  rest  beyond  what  they 


AMUSEMENTS  FOR  THE  HOME.  89 

get  during  the  hours  of  sleep.  If  there  could  be  found  a 
vocation  in  which  all  the  faculties  should  be  exercised 
alike,  those  engaged  in  such  a  vocation  would  require  no 
amusement  beyond  what  would  necessarily  result  from 
exercising  the  faculty  of  mirth  equally  with  the  other  fac- 
ulties. But  the  relations  of  human  life  afford  no  such  vo- 
cation, hence  the  wisdom  of  making  special  provision  for 
amusements. 

Suppose  we  have  a  complicated  machine,  only  a  part 
of  which  is  in  action,  half  of  the  wheels  remaining  motion- 
less. Now  suppose  we  discover  that  the  machine  is  wear- 
ing out  in  that  part  which  is  constantly  exercised.  What 
shall  we  do  to  maintain  the  symmetry  of  the  machine 
and  prevent  it  from  becoming  in  a  short  time  useless? 
Will  it  be  sufficient  to  simply  stop  the  machine  a  few 
hours  or  days  and  then  start  it  again  ?  Surely  not,  for 
half  of  it  is  now  actually  rusting  out  from  the  want  of 
being  used.  One  half  needs  rest  and  the  other  part  needs 
action  in  order  to  check  the  process  of  destruction.  Hence 
the  only  way  to  accomplish  the  desired  result  is  to  stop 
the  part  that  has  been  continually  running  and  start  the 
other  part. 

This  illustration  explains  the  whole  philosophy  of  amuse- 
ments and  recreations.  Man  does  not  need  to  rest,  but 
simply  to  start  up  the  other  half  of  his  vital  and  mental 
machinery,  and  home  furnishes  the  only  adequate  motive 
power. 


90  OUR  HOME. 

"  Frown  not,  when  roistering  boys  or  toss  or  strike 
The  bounding  ball,  or  leap  or  run  or  ride 
The  mastered  steed  that,  as  the  rider,  loves 
The  rushing  course,  or  when  with  ringing  steel 
The  polished  ice  they  sweep  in  winter's  reign; 
All  pleasing  pastimes,  innocent  delights, 
That  gladden  hearts  yet  simple  and  sincere, 
Let  love  parental  gather  'round  the  home, 
And  consecrate  by  sharing  ;  let  it  watch 
With  kind,  approving  smiles  each  merry  game 
That  quickens  youthful  blood,  and  in  the  joy 
That  beams  from  crimson  cheeks  and  sparkling  eyes 
Its  own  renew,  and  live  its  childhood  o'er." 


HOME  SMILES. 


SMILE  is  the  most  useful  thing  in  the  world 
in  proportion  to  its  cost.  It  costs  absolutely 
nothing,  but  its  utility  is  often  beyond  esti- 
mation. It  comes  as  the  involuntary  and 
irrepressible  expression  of  a  sentiment  that 
lies  at  the  basis  of  human  society.  Smiles 
constitute  a  part  of  our  language.  There 
seem  to  be  certain  combinations  of  words  that 
require  to  be  supplemented  with  a  smile  be- 
fore they  can  have  any  meaning  to  us. 
The  human  soul,  shrouded  in  the  mysteries  of  personal- 
ity, yearns  to  know  the  essence  of  other  souls,  as  it  were,  to 
touch  a  hand  in  the  dark,  and  smiles  are  the  electric 
flashes  that  illumine  the  wide  gulf  that  separates  indi- 
vidualities. 

There  is  a  mystery  in  what  we  call  acquaintance.  Ac- 
quaintance, however,  is  not  the  proper  word,  but  since 
human  language  affords  no  apter  one  we  shall  be  obliged  to 
use  it.  Why  should  we  say  that  we  are  acquainted  with 
this  one  and  not  with  that  one  ?  Acquaintanceship  does 
not  consist  in  a  knowledge  of  an  individual's  peculiarities 
of  character   or   disposition,   for   we    sometimes   feel   ac- 


92  OUR  HOME. 

quainted  with  persons  whose  minds  are  sealed  books  to  us. 
We  cannot  understand  them.  Their  thoughts  are  mysteri- 
ous and  unfathomable,  and  they  always  seem  to  take  a  turn 
which  was  wholly  unexpected  to  us  and  which  we  cannot 
account  for,  and  yet  we  feel  perfectly  acquainted  with 
them. 

There  are  others  whose  minds  are  as  transparent  as  glass. 
Their  mental  operations  are  performed,  as  it  were,  in  the 
sight  of  all.  We  can  almost  anticipate  their  very  thoughts, 
and  yet  we  would  not  think  of  speaking  to  them  because, 
as  we  say,  we  are  not  acquainted  with  them. 

Acquaintance  is  not  a  conventionality  of  society,  for  it 
may  be  observed  in  those  rude  and  primitive  communities 
where  the  mere  conventionalities  of  society  have  little 
weight.  It  is  more  strongly  manifested  in  little  children 
even  before  they  can  talk  than  in  older  people.  This 
shows  that  whatever  acquaintance  may  be,  it  is  natural 
and  not  artificial.  In  what  then  does  it  consist?  What 
passes  between  two  souls  when  a  third  party  says,  "  this  is 
Mr. ,  Mr. "  ?  There  is  usually  some  form  of  salu- 
tation, as  the  bow  or  the  shaking  of  hands ;  although  there 
is  nothing  of  a  permanent  or  essential  nature  in  these,  for 
the  mode  of  salutation  differs  in  different  nations  and  com- 
munities. The  Turks  fold  their  arms  across  the  breast 
while  bowing ;  the  Laplanders  touch  their  noses ;  and  in 
Southern  Africa  they  rub  their  toes  together. 

But  there  is  one  act  that  accompanies  all  these  different 


HOME  SMILES.  93 

modes,  one  rite  that  never  varies.  It  is  the  smile.  The 
philosophy  of  acquaintance  is  wrapt  up  in  the  philosophy 
of  the  smile.  When  two  smiles  have  met,  two  souls  are 
acquainted.  A  smile  is  the  sign  that  a  soul  gives  when  it 
would  examine  another  soul. 

Every  soul  in  the  universe  lives  alone.  There  is  a 
dark  curtain  dropped  before  the  window  of  its  house 
which  hides  it  from  the  view  of  all.  Every  one  has  felt 
his  loneliness  even  in  the  midst  of  crowds.  Souls  cannot 
come  into  contact,  but  they  can  draw  aside  the  curtain 
from  the  window.  To  smile  is  to  draw  aside  the  curtain. 
The  fondest  souls  can  do  no  more.  Even  lovers  must 
caress  through  a  window. 

At  home,  these  curtains  should  often  be  drawn  aside,  for 
there  is  nothing  so  fatal  to  a  home  as  to  have  its  members 
become  unacquainted  with  each  other.  And  there  is  noth- 
ing so  difficult  as  to  renew  the  acquaintance  of  brothers 
and  sisters,  when  once  it  has  been  lost.  When  they  begin 
to  be  restrained  and  self-conscious  in  each  other's  society ; 
when  they  begin  to  review  with  indifference  those  phases 
of  life  over  which  they  once  smiled  and  wept  together, — 
they  are  unconsciously,  perhaps  unwillingly,  cutting  each 
other's  acquaintance.  There  is  no  sadder  sight  on  earth 
than  that  of  a  brother  and  sister  who  are  unacquainted. 
The  coldness  and  reserve  that  springs  up  between  the 
members  of  so  many  families  originates  in  a  lack  of 
"  smiles  at  home." 


94  OUR  HOME. 

By  smiles  we  do  not  mean  that  which  takes  the  place  of 
loud  laughter  when  the  occasion  is  insufficient  to  provoke 
us  to  more  noisy  demonstrations.  Nor  do  we  mean  either 
the  transient  smile  with  which  one  regards  the  ludicrous, 
or  the  habitual  smile  that  often  accompanies  a  low  degree 
of  thought-power.  There  is  a  smile  that  originates  neither 
in  the  sense  of  the  ludicrous,  nor  in  thoughtlessness.  Like 
certain  articles  of  dress  such  smiles  are  becoming  on  all 
occasions.  They  sit  with  equal  grace  upon  the  brow  of 
joy  and  of  sorrow.  They  seem  as  appropriate  when  they 
wreathe  the  mother's  thoughtful  face  as  when  they  live  in 
the  dimpled  cheek  of  laughing  girlhood,  or  with  their 
magic  play  transform  the  eyes  to  twinkling  stars. 

These  are  the  smiles  with  which  we  would  adorn  every 
home.  We  would  set  them  as  vases  of  flowers  in  every 
house. 

Smiles  should  be  the  legal  tender  in  every  family  for  the 
payment  of  all  debts  of  kindness,  and  each  member  should 
be  willing  to  take  this  currency  at  its  face  value ;  for  its 
value  is  beyond  the  reach  of  those  disturbing  influences 
that  shake  the  world  of  commerce.  And,  what  is  better 
than  all,  it  can  never  be  demonetized,  for  it  bears  the 
immutable  stamp  of  the  divine  government. 

Let  the  members  of  the  family,  almost  as  often  as  they 
meet,  greet  each  other  with  a  smile,  for  eyes  that  meet  in 
full  gaze  without  a  smile  soon  grow  cold.  The  mother,  if 
she  would  keep  the  confidence  of  her  son,  must  be  lavish  of 


HOME  SMILES.  95 

her  smiles.  Mothers  often  weep  in  the  presence  of  their 
sons  on  account  of  the  anxiety  that  they  feel  for  them. 
This  is  a  great  error,  for  in  the  first  place  it  leads  a  young 
man  to  conceal  that  which  he  believes  would  displease  his 
mother.  This  is  often  the  beginning  of  a  fatal  reserve. 
Besides,  it  causes  him  to  feel  that  his  mother  has  not  con- 
fidence in  him,  and  that  however  much  she  may  love  him 
she  fears  to  trust  his  honor. 

The  smile  is  nature's  cure  for  the  disease  of  bashfulness. 
This  disease  is  simply  the  fear  which  one  soul  experiences 
in  approaching  another.  But  the  smile  is  an  instinctive 
effort  to  suppress  the  fear  and  to  know  the  soul. 

A  knowledge  of  this  principle  would  be  of  great  service 
to  those  having  the  charge  of  bashful  children.  Strangers 
should  always  encourage  a  smile  in  a  bashful  child.  Such 
children  should  be  met  with  smiles  rather  than  with  words. 
The  smile  is  the  only  form  of  salutation  that  a  bashful 
child  can  use.  He  cannot  speak  to  a  stranger  in  audible 
language,  but  if  the  stranger  will  consent  to  use  the  lan- 
guage of  smiles  he  may  almost  always  gain  quick  admis- 
sion to  his  confidence.  When  the  bashful  child  smiles  and 
blushes  and  hangs  his  head  in  the  presence  of  strangers, 
there  is  great  hope  that  he  will  outgrow  the  infirmity,  for 
the  smile  is  an  instinctive  effort  to  overcome  it.  But 
where  the  child  is  not  inclined  to  smile  there  is  little  hope, 
and  the  malady  usually  degenerates  into  moroseness  and 
oddity. 


96  OUR  HOME. 

The  habitual  smiler  is  never  a  dyspeptic.  Smiles  pro- 
mote the  general  health  and  are  especially  fatal  to  any  dis- 
ease of  the  stomach  or  liver. 

Smiles  also  promote  the  growth  of  the  religious  senti- 
ment, because  they  cannot  thrive  without  a  constant  sense 
of  obligation  to  others.  Especially  do  they  tend  to  culti- 
vate benevolence,  for  every  smile  is  a  gift,  and  benevolence 
grows  by  giving.  There  are  few  souls  that  can  "  smile, 
and  murder  while  they  smile."  None  indeed  can  murder, 
while  they  smile  from  the  heart.  There  may  be  the  same 
movement  of  the  facial  muscles,  but  smiles  are  not  merely 
contractions  of  certain  muscles.     They  are  mental  acts. 

The  actor  may  give  the  outward  expression  of  a  smile, 
and  murder  while  he  smiles,  but  the  words  of  the  great 
dramatist  are  not  true  of  a  single  human  soul  except  the 
smile  be  spurious. 

"  Sweet  is  the  smile  of  home;  the  mutual  look 
Where  hearts  are  of  each  other  sure ; 
Sweet  all  the  joys  that  crowd  the  household  uook, 
The  haunt  of  all  affections  pure." 


JOYS   OF   HOME. 


§|  OY  is  the  natural  and  normal  condition  of 
every  human  soul.  To  be  genuine  and  per- 
manent it  must  depend  chiefly  on  internal 
instead  of  external  conditions.  Every  nat- 
ural function  both  of  the  body  and  of  the 
mind  is  attended  with  pleasure  and  never 
with  pain,  unless  it  be  the  penalty  for  a 
broken  law.  If  walking  is  not  pleasurable, 
it  is  because  there  is  some  trouble  with  the 
physical  system.  If  daylight  does  not  bring 
to  the  eye  positive  pleasure,  it  is  because  the 
eye  is  diseased  and  there  is  ^  maladjustment 
between  it  and  the  light.  The  difficulty  is 
always  on  the  part  of  the  eye  and  never  on  the  part  of  the 
light.  When  the  song  of  birds,  the  sighing  of  the  breeze, 
the  rippling  of  the  brook,  the  chirping  of  the  insect  &nd 
the  thousand  voices  of  nature  do  not  bring  to  the  ear  and 
soul  the  exquisite  sense  of  divine  harmony,  it  is  because 
sin  with  rude  hand  has  broken  the  chords  of  the  spirit's 
harp.  We  always  hear  music  at  second  hand,  just  as  we 
see  beauty.  Hence  it  has  been  said  that  "  beauty  is  in  the 
eye  of  the  gazer,  and  music  is  in  the  ear  of  the  listener." 

7 


98  OUR  HOME. 

There  is  philosophy  in  this  saying,  for  all  the  music  that 
we  hear  is  that  which  the  soul  itself  produces  when  it  re- 
sponds to  the  myriad  voices  from  without.  These  sounds 
and  voices  from  nature,  God's  great  orchestra,  must  be  re- 
produced by  the  soul's  response  before  they  can  become 
music  to  us.  It  is  not  the  music  without  that  we  hear,  but 
the  spirit's  imitation  of  it. 

If,  then,  the  soul  be  tuned  to  the  same  key  so  as  to  give 
a  true  response,  rest  assured  that  our  lives  will  be  filled 
with  harmony  and  joy,  for  God's  hand  never  strikes  a  dis- 
cord. 

The  secret  of  human  joy,  then,  is  to  keep  the  spirit's 
harp  in  tune.  To  the  spirit  whose  harp  is  out  of  tune,  the 
clouds  are  but  unsightly  rags  with  which  the  mantle  of 
the  sky  is  patched  ;  the  mountain  in  its  grandeur  is  but  an 
eminence  that  is  hard  to  climb  ;  the  sublime  thunder  of 
Niagara  is  but  a  loud  noise  that  makes  it  difficult  to  sleep ; 
while  the  songs  of  birds,  the  patter  of  the  rain,  the  laugh- 
ter and  the  voices  of  the  woods  are  but  the  troublesome 
prattle  of  Nature's  children. 

Joy  cannot  be  bought  with  gold.  There  is  but  one 
thing  that  Nature  will  take  in  exchange  for  it,  and  that  is 
obedience  to  the  divine  laws  of  our  being.  Joy  is  the 
only  legitimate  and  necessary  product  of  every  normal  and 
healthy  function.  It  is  absolutely  impossible  for  any 
function  of  our  being,  if  healthy  and  normal  in  its  action, 
to  produce  anything  but  joy,  no  matter  what  may  be  the 


JOYS  OF  HOME.  99 

outward  conditions.  The  truest  and  highest  joy  is  a  prod- 
uct of  health,  and  is  but  partially  dependent  on  external 
conditions. 

Nature  aims  at  no  other  grand  result  than  that  of  joy. 
She  has  created  the  myriad  varieties  of  fruit  for  the  pleas- 
ure of  the  palate.  For  the  joy  of  the  eye  she  has  painted 
on  the  earth's  green  canvas  the  gentle  hints  of  heaven,  and 
bathed  the  picture  in  the  liquid  silver  of  the  sunlight. 
For  the  ear  she  has  filled  the  earth  with  harmony  divine. 
For  the  joy  of  our  social  and  domestic  natures  she  lias 
instituted  the  home,  the  fireside  and  society.  For  our  in- 
tellectual nature  she  has  filled  the  universe  with  problems, 
the  solution  of  which  gives  us  exquisite  pleasure.  For  our 
spiritual  nature  she  has  given  the  heavenly  reward  of  an  ap- 
proving conscience.     Thus  is  joy  the  eternal  aim  of  Nature. 

On  whom  then  rests  the  blame  when  life's  joys  are  tar- 
nished and  its  sweetness  turned  to  bitterness?  Whom 
shall  we  blame  for  the  strained  and  weakened  eye  that 
makes  the  sunlight  painful  ?  Whom  shall  we  blame  for 
the  overwrought  brain  that  makes  causation  and  all  prob- 
lems irksome  ?  Whom  shall  we  blame  for  the  seared  and 
deadened  conscience  that  makes  duty  a  task  and  honor  a 
burden?  We  fancy  that  the  conscience  of  none  of  our 
readers  is  yet  so  far  deadened  that  he  will  not  quickly  an- 
swer, "  I  myself  am  to  blame." 

The  clamor  for  joy  and  pleasure,  then,  when  rightly  in- 
terpreted, is  a  universal  call  to  duty,  for  the  reward  of 


100  OUR  HOME. 

duty  is  unalloyed  joy.  Tis  a  call  to  study  and  mental 
discipline ;  for  the  fruit  of  culture,  like  that  of  duty  is  joy 
and  only  joy.  It  is  a  call  to  physical  obedience  and  to  the 
cultivation  of  health ;  for  joy  is  the  necessary  and  insep- 
arable accompaniment  of  these,  and  without  them  it  can- 
not exist.  Let  the  reader  remember  this  one  fact,  that 
obedience  to  the  physical,  intellectual  and  moral  laws  of 
our  being  is  the  only  condition  that  Nature  imposes  upon 
us,  and  when  this  one  condition  is  complied  with  she  will 
shower  upon  us  joys  untold.  She  will  make  the  breath  of 
morning  a  source  of  exquisite  delight.  The  very  conscious- 
ness of  existence  will  thrill  us  with  that  joy  which  all  have 
felt  at  rare  intervals,  undefinable,  and  too  subtle  for  any 
analysis.  External  objects  and  conditions  seem  to  play 
no  part  in  the  program.  At  most  they  are  only  the  occa- 
sions and  not  the  causes  of  the  joy.  We  look  into  the 
face  of  a  friend  or  out  over  the  sheen  of  a  lake  and  we  feel 
an  unutterable  joy  coursing  through  all  the  channels  of  our 
being,  and  welling  up  in  gurgling  laughter;  and  we  cannot 
for  our  lives  tell  why  we  laugh.  The  joy  that  comes  to 
perfect  health  with  the  sweet  intoxication  of  the  morning 
dew,  is  "  the  purest  and  sweetest  that  Nature  can  yield." 
Such  is  the  bountiful  reward  of  Nature  for  obedience  to 
her  laws. 

We  have  dwelt  thus  at  length  on  the  laws  that  govern 
the  emotion  of  joy  because  they  have  an  important  bearing 
on  the  subject  of  which  we  are  treating. 


JOYS  OF  HOME.  101 

The  fireside  is  the  only  spot  where  it  is  possible  to  obey 
all  the  laws  of  our  being :  hence  it  is  the  only  spot  where 
supreme  joy  can  exist.  Domestic  joy  is  the  only  joy  that 
is  complete. 

Truly  has  the  poet  said : 

"Domestic  joy,  thou  only  bliss 
Of  paradise  that  hath  survived  the  fall." 

Man  may  cultivate  his  intellect  and  derive  pleasure  from 
obedience  to  its  laws,  even  though  he  may  not  have  a  home. 
He  may  derive  a  joy  from  obedience  to  the  laws  of  his 
moral  nature  while  he  is  a  hermit  or  a  wanderer.  He  may 
even  derive  some  enjoyment  from  partial  obedience  to 
the  laws  of  his  social  nature.  But  all  enjoyment  from  this 
source  must  be  partial,  because  all  obedience  to  the  social 
law  must  be  incomplete  outside  the  domestic  circle.  The 
family  is  the  truest  type  of  society. 

But  without  a  fireside  man's  domestic  nature,  from  which 
he  derives  by  far  the  largest  amount  of  his  earthly  enjoy- 
ment, cannot  but  remain  cold  and  entirely  inactive.  This 
department  of  his  nature  can  be  kept  alive  only  by  the  heat 
of  the  hearth-stone.  The  home  is  the  place  where  all  the 
joys  of  life  may  exist  in  their  ripest  fruition. 

Even  the  intellectual  nature,  which  is  the  farthest  re- 
moved from  the  sphere  of  domestic  influence,  cannot  be 
developed  to  its  fullest  possibility  outside  of  the  home ;  for 
the  boy  requires  in  the  first  stage  of  his  intellectual  devel- 
opment the  wholesome  spirit  of  rivalry  and  emulation  that 


102  OUR  HOME. 

exists  among  children  of  the  same  household.  In  every 
stage  he  needs  the  stimulus  of  honest  commendation,  and 
this  comes  in  its  purest  and  most  useful  form  from  the 
members  of  the  same  family. 

The  joys  peculiar  to  the  moral  and  spiritual  nature  must 
be  only  partial,  and  far  below  what  this  part  of  our  be- 
ing is  capable  of  yielding,  unless  it  be  cultivated  in  the 
sanctuary  of  home.  Conscience  must  be  kept  sharp  by  the 
pathetic  appeals  of  little  children,  by  the  tender  looks  and 
anxious  words  of  mothers  and  sisters,  and  by  the  nice  ad- 
justments of  domestic  obligations. 

What  a  plea  do  we  find  in  these  facts  for  the  institution 
of  home,  and  how  much  is  signified  by  "the  joys  of 
home ! "  No  words  of  ours  are  necessary  to  impress  that 
significance  upon  the  minds  of  those  who  are  the  members 
of  happy  families.  With  what  feelings  of  delight  do  such 
look  forward  to  the  evening  hour  when  the  family,  over- 
flowing with  joy,  shall  gather  around  the  board  with  mirth 
and  laughter.  How  the  father's  heart  thrills  at  the  sudden 
thought  that  the  hour  is  near  when  he  shall  meet  his  loved 
ones ;  when  he  shall  leave  his  care  and  troubles  all  behind, 
and  sit  in  his  easy  chair,  or  recline  upon  the  sofa,  and 
watch  the  fire-light  dancing  on  the  wall  and  hear  the 
merry  voices  of  the  children,  or  listen  to  the  sweet  music 
of  his  daughter's  voice.  Can  heaven  yield  a  sweeter  joy 
than  this  ? 

But  the  joys  of  home  are  not  to  be  measured  by  actual 


JOYS  OF  HOME.  103 

domestic  felicity,  for  home  has  joys  independent  of  this. 
There  is  joy  in  the  very  thought  that  one  has  a  home. 
There  is  joy  in  the  poetry  with  which  the  divine  artists  of 
time  and  memory  conspire  to  paint  the  old  homestead. 

Joy  is  heightened  and  pain  is  lightened  by  being  shared, 
but  home  is  the  only  place  on  earth  where  they  can  be  fully 
shared.  Everywhere  else  there  is  a  reserve  that  makes  our 
joys  and  pains  peculiarly  our  own.  At  home  the  heart 
may  be  opened,  and  all  that  it  knows  and  feels  may  be 
known  and  felt  by  others. 

The  joys  of  home  are  the  only  ones  of  which  we  never 
weary.  We  grow  tired  of  those  joys  that  come  from  min- 
gling promiscuously  in  society.  We  tire  of  the  exciting 
pleasures  of  trade  and  commerce.  We  tire  of  gazing  at  the 
marble  fronts  and  gilded  palaces  of  the  great  city.  We 
shut  our  eyes  and  close  our  ears  in  weariness  and  disgust 
even  at  the  sights  and  sounds  of  the  public  park.  But  we 
never  grow  tired  of  mother's  song,  although  the  birds  in 
the  park  may  weary  us.  We  may  leave  the  art  gallery 
satiated,  but  the  old  pictures  on  the  walls  of  home  are  ever 
new. 

Let  us  then  cherish  the  joys  of  home,  for  their  perennial 
freshness  hints  at  their  eternity.  The  child,  who  with  his 
playmates,  wanders  from  his  home  over  the  hill  and  meadow, 
when  he  wearies  of  his  sports  and  games,  turns  at  nightfall 
to  his  home  to  lay  his  little  weary  head  upon  his  mother's 
breast.    ,80  when  we  shall  weary  of  the  little  sports  and 


104  OUR  HOME. 

games  of  earth,  may  we  find  our  homeward  way  back  across 
life's  meadow  and  up  the  hill  to  the  threshold  of  the  home 
eternal,  and  lay  our  weary  heads  upon  the  bosom  of  the 
Divine,  forever  and  ever. 

14  Sweet  are  the  joys  of  home, 
And  pure  as  sweet;  for  they 
Like  dews  of  morn  and  evening  come, 
To  make  and  close  the  day. 

"  The  world  hath  its  delights, 
And  its  delusions,  too; 
But  home  to  calmer  bliss  invites, 
More  tranquil  and  more  true. 

"  The  mountain  flood  is  strong, 
But  fearful  in  its  pride; 
While  gently  rolls  the  stream  along 
The  peaceful  valley's  side. 

"  Life's  charities,  like  light, 
Spread  smilingly  afar; 
But  stars  approached,  become  more  bright, 
And  home  is  life's  own  star. 

"  The  pilgrim's  step  in  vain 
Seeks  Eden's  sacred  ground! 
But  in  home's  holy  joys  again 
An  Eden  may  be  found. 

"A  glance  of  heaven  to  see, 
To  none  on  earth  is  given ; 
And  yet  a  happy  family 
Is  but  an  earlier  heaven." 


EDUCATION  OF  OUR  GIRLS. 


HE  education  of  woman  is  among  the  fore- 
most problems  of  the  nineteenth  century. 
It  is  something  more  than  a  social  problem. 
It  is  a  civil  and  political,  a  moral  and  re- 
ligious problem  as  well.  Inasmuch  as  the 
presence  of  woman  constitutes  one  of  the 
^  \  chief  charms  and  benefits  of  society,  and  in- 
asmuch as  it  is  she  who  far  more  than  man 
gives  character  to  society,  her  education  and  culture  are  a 
social  problem. 

But  into  her  care  have  been  entrusted  the  nation's  future 
statesmen,  those  who  are  soon  to  be  clothed  with  authority 
and  to  make  laws  for  the  government  of  mankind.  Hence 
her  education  becomes  a  civil  and  political  problem.  Not 
only  is  she  entrusted  with  the  guardianship  of  the  intellect 
and  character  of  the  world's  statesmen  and  philosophers, 
but  her  gentle  presence,  as  she  bends  over  the  cradle,  and 
the  silent  influence  of  her  daily  life  are  shaping  the  entire 
moral  character  of  the  coming  generation  ;  and  thus  does 
the  education  of  woman  become  a  great  moral  problem. 
Again,  since  she  shapes  the  moral  character  of  the  world, 


106  OUR  HOME. 

and  since  the  eternal  destiny  of  man  depends  upon  the 
character  in  this  life,  it  follows  that  her  education  becomes 
the  profoundest  spiritual  and  religious  problem. 

In  view  of  these  momentous  facts  what  should  constitute 
the  education  of  our  girls?  Human  life  is  short  and  its 
powers  of  endurance  are  limited.  None  of  us  can  reasona- 
bly hope  to  accomplish  all  that  our  imagination  may  picture 
to  our  minds  as  desirable.  We  cannot  appropriate  the 
great  sea  of  knowledge.  We  surely  cannot  do  better  than 
Sir  Isaac  Newton,  who  picked  up  only  a  few  pebbles  on  the 
shore.  But  whether  we  are  able  to  pick  up  one  or  many 
of  these  pebbles  we  should  select  only  those  whose  size  and 
shape  best  adapt  them  to  our  purpose. 

We  have  no  argument  to  offer  against  the  study  of 
those  branches  which  utilitarians  are  wont  to  condemn  as 
involving  a  waste  of  time  and  energy.  We  have  no  sym- 
pathy with  this  utilitarian  idea.  We  pity  the  man  who  is 
able  even  to  distinguish  between  beauty  and  utility. 
That  mind  which  does  not  see  the  highest  use  in  Niagara 
is  but  poorly  developed  and  poorly  educated.  Nature  has 
drawn  no  line  between  the  beautiful  and  the  useful.  On 
the  contrary,  she  has  purposely  blended  them  in  an  indis- 
tinguishable union.  Every  apple  tree  is  first  a  vase  of 
flowers  and  then  a  golden  fruit  basket.  A  blossom  is  the 
preface  to  every  useful  product.  Before  Nature  can  allow 
even  a  potato  to  grow  and  ripen  she  places  the  divine  seal 
of  beauty  on  it  in  the  form  of  a  little  flower.     That  little 


EDUCATION  OF  OUR  GIRLS.  107 

flower,  which  is  made  the  necessary  condition  of  the  pota- 
to's development,  was  placed  there  to  teach  us  that  there 
is  a  use  in  beauty  and  a  beauty  in  use.  Hence  we  would 
not  condemn  the  study  of  music  and  the  fine  arts.  The 
history  of  music  is  the  history  of  human  development.  It 
has  been  the  sensitive  gauge  that  has  marked  the  civiliza- 
tion of  every  age  and  nation.  The  music  that  charmed 
the  undeveloped  and  savage  ear  of  the  past  would  be  to  us 
but  rude  noise,  and  perchance  the  divinest  harmony  that 
wafts  our  spirit  starward  may  be  but  discord  compared 
with  the  symphonies  that  echo  down  the  aisles  of  coming 
ages.  Music  is  not  altogether  an  art;  it  is  a  science  as 
well,  and  viewed  in  its  highest  aspect  it  becomes  the 
grand  exponent  of  that  universal  and  divine  harmony 
which  every  properly  developed  soul  has  felt,  and  which 
gives  credence  to  that  sweetest  of  all  mythologies,  "  the 
music  of  the  spheres." 

Thus  while  we  cannot  speak  too  highly  of  the  science  of 
music  as  a  means  of  soul  development  and  heart  culture, 
yet  as  a  mere  outward  accomplishment  it  cannot  be  denied 
that  it  usurps  a  disproportionate  amount  of  time  and  en- 
ergy, and  we  would  unhesitatingly  condemn  that  method 
of  study  which  would  reduce  the  science  and  art  of  music 
to  a  mere  system  of  finger  and  vocal  gymnastics.  It  is  a 
fact  which  the  observation  of  almost  every  one  will  con- 
firm, that  the  present  method  of  musical  instruction  has  a 
direct  tendency  to  take  the  soul  out  of  music,  and  leave  it, 


108  OUR  HOME. 

like  the  poetry  of  Pope,  a  mere  shell  from  which  the  living 
creature  has  departed.  The  modern  masters  of  song  seem 
to  have  forgotten  the  prime  object  of  music,  viz.,  to  move 
the  heart  and  lift  the  soul.  They  exhibit  their  powers  to 
us  as  the  circus  rider  exhibits  his,  and  they  expect  us  to 
applaud  them  for  their  skill  in  execution ;  if  we  do  not 
they  attribute  our  indifference  to  the  "  lack  of  culture." 

Life  is  too  short  and  its  duties  too  momentous  for  a  girl 
to  spend  years  in  acquiring  proficiency  in  the  production 
of  a  mere  sound,  and  one  in  which,  in  spite  of  her  culture, 
she  is  discounted  by  the  ordinary  canary  bird.  Music 
should  be  made  an  instrument  and  not  a  toy. 

All  this  may  be  true,  says  the  mother,  but  how  shall  I 
educate  my  daughter?  It  is  easy  to  generalize  and  to 
criticise  existing  systems ;  but  what  is  the  particular  method 
which  I  must  follow  in  order  to  avoid  this  criticism  ? 

In  the  first  place,  it  is  necessary  to  have  a  just  view  con- 
cerning woman's  place  in  the  economy  of  society.  It  is 
useless  to  give  advice  in  regard  to  the  higher  education  of 
woman  to  those  who  covertly  or  otherwise  regard  woman 
as  an  inferior  being,  whose  highest  and  most  legitimate 
function  is  to  swing  a  cradle  through  the  air  twelve  hours 
a  day.  We  would  not  express  other  than  the  tenderest 
sentiments  concerning  the  divine  mission  of  motherhood. 
But  has  the  reader  ever  asked  himself  what  it  is  that 
makes  motherhood  so  divine  ?  Is  it  not,  after  all,  that 
which   lifts    woman    above    motherhood,    that   can   make 


EDUCATION  OF  OUR  GIRLS.  109 

motherhood  divine?  We  are  pained  when  an  eminent 
writer  gives  weight  to  expressions  like  the  following:  " The 
great  vocation  of  woman  is  wifehood  and  motherhood." 
Would  the  author  object  to  a  slight  change  in  the  latter 
part  of  the  phraseology  so  as  to  make  the  expression  appli- 
cable to  man  ?  Would  those  who  think  that  the  quoted 
words  express  a  fine  thought  be  offended  with  the  follow- 
ing? The  great  vocation  of  man  is  husbandhood  and 
fatherhood?  The  moment  we  exalt  motherhood  to  the 
rank  of  a  prime  object,  that  moment  does  it  descend  to 
the  level  of  the  function  involved,  and  the  divine  mother 
becomes  simply  a  mammal  of  the  genus  "  homo." 

All  there  is  of  divinity  in  motherhood  is  derived  from 
the  divinity  of  womanhood.  Why  does  the  artist  always 
paint  that  kind  of  motherhood  which  suggests  to  our 
minds  the  condescension  of  the  divine  to  the  human  ?  It  is 
not  the  motherhood,  but  the  condescension  to  motherhood, 
that  makes  it  divine  and  beautiful.  Whatever  heightens 
and  glorifies  woman's  nature  then  renders  more  beautiful 
and  more  divine  the  mission  of  motherhood.  It  is  the 
seminary  that  sanctifies  the  nursery. 

We  hope  the  world  has  heard  the  last  of  that  sickly 
sentiment  concerning  "  woman's  sphere,"  "  The  hand  that 
rocks  the  cradle  rules  the  world,"  etc.  If  that  hand  were 
permitted  to  take  hold  of  the  world  a  little  more  directly, 
it  would  not  at  all  interfere  with  its  ability  to  rock  the 
cradle.     The   female   robin    must   feed   and   care   for   its 


110  OUR  HOME. 

young,  but  it  finds  time  each  morning  to  sing  its  little 
hymn  of  praise  upon  the  tree-top  to  its  Maker.  So  woman 
may  rock  the  cradle  sufficiently  each  day  and  yet  find  time 
to  glorify  her  God  with  her  intellect. 

We  would  see  the  little  sister  and  brother  hand  in  hand 
enter  the  primary  school ;  we  would  see  them  together 
promoted  to  the  grammar  school ;  we  would  see  them 
struggling  on  through  the  course  all  unconscious  that 
there  is  any  radical  difference  in  their  mental  constitu- 
tions ;  we  would  see  them  graduate  from  the  high  school 
together,  and  together  enter  the  university,  and  here 
through  four  years  of  intellectual  conflict  we  would  see 
them  stand  side  by  side  in  that  fiercely  contested  arena, 
and  with  tongue  and  pen  and  brain  compete  for  those 
prizes  whose  winning  foreshadows  life's  success.  We  would 
see  them  both  at  the  graduating  exercises,  fearlessly  giv- 
ing to  the  world  a  specimen  of  their  thought  and  elo- 
quence, 

"  Mid  the  sweet  inspiration  of  music  and  flowers." 

Nor  would  we  see  them  part  here ;  but  with  brave 
hearts  enter  the  same  profession.  We  see  no  good  reason 
why  women  should  not  serve  their  kind  as  lawyers,  doc- 
tors, and  ministers.  It  is  true  there  are  objections  and 
hinderances  incidental  to  their  sex,  but  these  we  believe 
are  fully  counterbalanced  by  those  qualifications  in  which 
they  must  be  acknowledged  even  superior. 

In  medicine,  it  is  fast  coming  to  be  the  opinion  of  the 


EDUCATION  OF  OUR  GIRLS.  Ill 

world  that  woman,  whatever  may  be  her  incidental  disabili- 
ties, is  by  nature  even  better  endowed  than  man  with 
some  of  the  peculiarities  of  talent  that  prophesy  success. 
One  of  these  peculiarities  is  that  intuitive  insight  which, 
when  supplemented  by  scientific  knowledge,  leaps  to  right 
conclusions  with  the  certainty  of  an  instinct.  It  is  in 
moments  of  emergency  that  woman's  mind  betrays  its 
peculiar  fitness  for  the  medical  profession.  All  must 
admit  that  she  is  the  natural  nurse,  and  it  is  almost  an 
adage  among  physicians  that  "  as  much  depends  upon  the 
nursing  as  upon  medical  skill."  We  would  not,  of  course, 
make  this  claim  for  woman  with  reference  to  all  profes- 
sions. It  is  not  the  general  superiority  of  woman  that  we 
seek  to  prove,  but  simply  that  for  the  profession  of  medi- 
cine, at  least,  she  has  some  special  qualifications. 

But  we  would  not  deny  that  she  may  with  equal  pro- 
priety enter  almost  any  of  the  other  professions,  and  in 
this  we  are  confident  that  we  only  anticipate  the  tide  of 
public  sentiment.  How  eminently  do  her  sincerity,  moral- 
ity and  spiritual  mindedness  fit  her  to  point  the  world  to 
nobler  endeavors  and  higher  ideals. 

Many  of  the  arguments  which  prove  her  fitness  to  min- 
ister as  a  physician  to  the  diseased  bodies  of  mankind  also 
go  to  prove  her  special  fitness  to  minister  as  a  moral  physi- 
cian to  their  diseased  souls. 

Why  then  should  our  talented  and  ambitious  girls  la- 
ment that  there  is  no  field  open  for  them.     There  are  very 


112  OUR  HOME. 

few  professions  open  to  their  brothers,  which  they  may  not 
also  enter  if  they  will  but  have  the  courage,  not  the  immod- 
esty, to  step  aside  from  the  conventional  path  which  the 
hand  of  society  has  marked  out  for  them.  But  while 
woman  possesses  so  many  of  the  qualities  requisite  in  the 
professions,  there  are  still  few  women  who  are  adapted  to 
a  professional  life,  and  the  same  may  be  said  of  men. 
Hence  a  professional  education  cannot  meet  the  require- 
ments of  the  great  mass  either  of  girls  or  of  boys.  "  The 
greatest  good  to  the  greatest  number "  should  be  our 
motto.  We  must  go,  then,  to  the  little  farm-house  and 
the  little  cottage  beneath  the  hill.  Not  that  the  farm- 
house and  the  cottage  are  the  abodes  of  intellectual  weak- 
ness. On  the  contrary,  history  shows  that  the  world's 
great  minds,  like  wheat,  potatoes  and  apples,  are  usually 
produced  on  farms,  yet  it  cannot  be  denied  that  the  mass 
of  the  people,  those  to  whom  we  wish  to  speak,  are  sym- 
bolized by  the  farm-house  and  the  cottage. 

What,  then,  shall  constitute  the  education  of  the  com- 
mon girl  who  is  destitute  of  the  ambition  and,  perhaps, 
the  talent  to  become  great  and  useful  in  any  professional 
capacity?  We  answer,  in  the  first  place,  that  her  educa- 
tion should  be  as  varied  and  perfect  as  possible.  If  for  no 
other  reason  to  enable  her  properly  to  educate  and  rear 
her  own  children.  Whatever  grand  truths  are  planted  in 
the  mother's  mind  take  root  in  the  next  generation,  and 
there  grow,  blossom,  and  shed  their  perfume  on  the  world. 


EDUCATION  OF  OUR  GIRLS.  113 

The  child  receives  the  mother's  very  thought  by  intuition. 
Jf  the  mother's  mind  is  weak  and  narrow  in  its  range,  the 
child  is  affected  by  this  fact  long  before  it  finds  any  mean- 
ing in  the  mother's  words.  But  if  the  mother's  mind  is 
cultured  and  refined  by  study  until  her  thoughts  are  grand 
and  far-reaching,  the  child's  soul  will  grow  and  expand 
under  the  mesmeric  influence  of  these  thoughts,  as  the 
plant  grows  under  the  influence  of  the  sun. 

Again,  education,  or  the  refinement  and  organic  im- 
provement resulting  from  education,  is  transmitted  from 
mother  to  child.  Who  cannot  tell  by  the  looks  of  a  little 
boy  whether  his  mother  was  educated  or  not?  The  child 
of  the  educated  mother  will  have  a  finer  grained  organism  ; 
he  will  be  handsomer,  will  have  more  regular  features  than 
the  child  of  the  ignorant  parent.  As  a  rule  he  will  ac- 
quire the  use  of  language  at  an  earlier  period.  He  will 
also  generally  be  found  more  open  and  frank  in  his  man- 
ner, and  more  susceptible  to  moral  and  spiritual  influ- 
ences. 

How  grand  and  comprehensive,  then,  becomes  the  theme 
of  woman's  education.  To  the  parent  no  question  can  be 
more  important  than  how  shall  I  educate  my  daughter? 
If  it  is  impossible  to  educate  both  let  the  son  go  unedu- 
cated, and  educate  the  daughter.  The  importance  of  the 
son's  education  may  be,  indeed,  beyond  estimation  ;  yet 
that  of  the  daughter  is  even  more  important. 

Many  parents  believe  that  the  virtue  of  their  daughters 


114  OUR  HOME. 

will  be  more  secure  if  they  remain  in  general  ignorance ; 
but  the  frightful  statistics  of  our  great  cities  show  this  to 
be  a  terrible  mistake.  It  is  a  fact  that  cannot  be  denied, 
that  the  ranks  of  that  army  which  parade  the  streets  of 
the  great  cities  at  midnight,  in  painted  shame,  are  filled 
from  the  country.  Few  are  natives  of  the  city,  notwith- 
standing the  dangers  and  temptations  of  city  life  are  far 
greater  than  those  of  the  country. 

There  can  be  but  one  explanation  of  this  fact.  The  su- 
perior educational  facilities  of  the  city  afford  a  salutary 
and  restraining  influence  in  the  form  of  mental  culture. 
The  city  girl  is  better  educated  than  the  country  girl, 
hence  she  has  a  stronger  character. 

Both  may  be  innocent,  for  innocence  may  live  comfort- 
ably with  ignorance,  but  virtue  and  ignorance  cannot  long 
endure  each  other's  society.  A  young  kitten  is  innocent, 
but  it  has  but  little  character;  and  we  could  not  call  it 
particularly  virtuous.  There  are  thousands  of  human 
kittens  whose  virtue  consists  only  in  the  innocence  of  ig- 
norance. 

"  Pulpy  souls 
That  show  a  dimple  for  each  touch  of  sin." 

Let  every  mother  and  father  remember  that  there  is  no 
virtue  in  ignorance,  even  ignorance  of  sin.  If  you  do  not 
give  your  boy  an  opportunity  to  use  his  muscles  he  will 
soon  cease  to  have  any  muscles.  So  there  can  be  no  virtue 
without  temptation;  if  you  do  not  give  your  daughter  an 
opportunity  to  use  her  virtue  in  the  resistance  of  tempta- 


EDUCATION  OF  OUR  GIRLS.  115 

tion,  it  is  to  be  feared  that  she  will  soon  cease  to  have  any 
virtue. 

A  certain  woman  had  a  choice  plum  tree,  the  fruit  of 
which  she  was  anxious  should  ripen.  The  birds  had  car- 
ried away  all  but  one,  and  over  this  she  bound  a  cloth.  It 
was  safe  from  the  birds,  but  while  she  shut  it  from  them, 
she  shut  it  also  from  the  sunshine  and  the  storms  which 
alone  could  ripen  it,  and  it  withered  away  and  fell. 

The  mother  should  teach  her  daughter  above  all  things 
to  know  herself. 

The  man  was  unwise,  who,  fearing  that  his  bird-dog 
would  acquire  the  habit  of  killing  barn  fowl,  shut  him  up 
during  his  puppy-hood  and  secluded  from  his  sight  every 
kind  of  bird.  When  he  released  him  to  test  the  merits  of 
his  system  of  education,  the  dog  rushed  at  the  fowls  and 
killed  them  all  before  his  master  could  call  him  off. 

Would  he  not  have  acted  more  wisely  had  he  taught  the 
young  dog  to  discriminate  between  barn-fowl  and  wild- 
fowl? As  it  was  he  did  not  educate  him,  but  attempted  to 
suppress  an  inborn  instinct. 

Equally  unwise  is  the  mother  who  keeps,  or  tries  to  keep, 
her  daughter  in  ignorance  concerning  those  things  which 
she  has  a  divinely  given  right  to  know.  Let  her  direct  her 
daughter's  intuitions  as  nature  unfolds  them,  but  never 
attempt  to  suppress  them,  for  sooner  or  later  there  must 
come  a  revelation. 

Whatever  may  be  true  concerning  the  question  of  wo- 


116  OUR  HOME. 

man's  rights ;  whether  or  not  she  has  a  moral  right  to  par- 
ticipate in  the  civil  government  of  society,  we  will  not  here 
attempt  to  discuss. 

A  concession  of  her  rights,  however,  as  interpreted  by 
the  strongest  advocate  of  woman's  suffrage  is  not  at  all  in- 
consistent with  the  undisputed  fact  that  woman  finds  her 
highest  mission  at  the  altar  of  home.  Nor  does  this  fact 
interfere  with  what  we  have  already  said  concerning  the 
inconsistency  of  making  wifehood  and  motherhood  the 
prime  object  of  life. 

The  doctrine  of  woman's  rights  can  never  be  proved  by 
contending  that  she  is  not  by  constitution  and  nature  calcu- 
lated to  pursue  a  somewhat  different  object  in  life  from  that 
which  man  pursues,  or  at  least  to  pursue  the  same  by  some- 
what different  methods. 

If  it  could  be  shown  that  men  and  women  should  both 
engage  in  the  cultivation  of  the  soil,  it  would  be  still  unde- 
niable that  woman  is  best  adapted  to  the  more  aesthetic 
portion  of  the  labor,  and  man  to  the  rougher  and  heavier 
portion.  If  a  flower  garden  or  nursery  were  placed  in  the 
midst  of  rough  stubble,  none  would  deny  that  it  would  be 
natural  for  the  man  to  mow  the  stubble,  while  the  woman 
should  tend  the  garden  in  its  midst.  This  would  be  true 
even  if  it  should  be  shown  that  woman  should  help  to  till 
the  soil. 

So  if  it  should  be  shown  that  woman  has  a  moral  right 
to  participate  in  the  solution  of  social  problems,  which  we 


EDUCATION  OF  OUR  GIRLS.  117 

are  not  by  any  means  prepared  to  deny,  it  would  still  be 
true  that  it  is  her  most  natural  function  to  have  particular 
charge  of  the  little  nursery,  home,  in  the  midst  of  the  rough 
stubble  of  human  society. 

Woman's  education,  then,  is  necessarily  very  imperfect, 
unless  it  be  largely  in  the  line  of  that  which  best  becomes 
her  nature. 

She  should  have,  emphatically,  a  home  education,  and 
this  means  something  more  than  a  knowledge  of  the  dust- 
pan and  broom. 

It  means  something  more  than  a  mere  knowledge  of  the 
daily  routine  of  housekeeping,  in  the  popular  sense  of  that 
word.  Woman  holds  in  her  hands  the  physical  health  of 
the  world.  Three  times  each  day  our  lives  and  health  are  at 
the  mercy  and  practical  judgment  of  woman.  Nay,  more, 
for  the  world's  character  is  largely  what  its  food  makes  it. 
Indirectly,  then,  she  exerts  a  modifying  influence  over 
our  loves  and  hates,  hopes  and  fears,  joys  and  sorrows. 

Whoever  controls  a  being's  stomach  controls  that  being's 
destiny.  What,  then,  can  be  more  important  than  that 
girls  should  be  educated  in  cookery  and  the  related  sci- 
ences, chemistry  and  hygiene?  This,  then,  is  what  we 
mean  by  a  home  education  for  girls,  that  they  should  be 
taught  both  through  the  wisdom  and  experience  of  moth- 
ers, and  also  through  the  medium  of  books,  how  to  engage 
in  the  noble  occupation  of  housewife  with  the  best  advan- 
tage to  mankind. 


118  OUR  HOME 

Such  an  education  cannot  be  obtained  solely  from  prac- 
tice in  the  kitchen.  The  whole  mind  must  be  expanded 
and  disciplined  by  a  study  of  nature  and  her  laws.  No 
woman  can  possibly  fulfill,  in  the  best  manner,  her  duties 
as  housewife  without  a  good  general  education. 

"  Three  years  she  grew  in  sun  and  shower; 
Then  nature  said,  "  A  lovelier  flower 
On  earth  was  never  sown ; 
This  child  I  to  myself  will  take; 
She  shall  be  mine,  and  I  will  make 
A  lady  of  my  own. 

"  Myself  will  to  my  darling  be 
Both  law  and  impulse;  and  with  me 
The  girl,  in  rock  and  plain, 
In  earth  and  heaven,  in  glade  and  bower, 
Shall  feel  an  overseeing  power 
To  kindle  or  restrain. 

"  She  shall  be  sportive  as  the  fawn 
That  wild  with  glee  across  the  lawn 
Or  up  the  mountain  springs; 
And  hers  shall  be  the  breathing  balm, 
And  hers  the  silence  and  the  calm, 
Of  mute  insensate  things. 

"  The  floating  clouds  their  state  shall  lend 
To  her;  for  her  the  willow  bend; 
Nor  shall  she  fail  to  see 
E'en  in  the  motions  of  the  storm 
Grace  that  shall  mold  the  maiden's  form 
By  silent  sympathy. 

"  The  stars  of  midnight  shall  be  dear 
To  her;  and  she  shall  lean  her  ear 
In  many  a  secret  place, 
Where  rivulets  dance  their  wayward  round, 
And  beauty  born  of  murmuring  sound 
Shall  pass  into  her  face." 


EDUCATION   OF   OUR   BOYS. 


N  education   does  not  necessarily  mean  the 
discipline  of  a  college  course.     In  the  present 
condition  of  society,  that  advantage  is,  M  I 
matter  of  necessity,   reserved  for   compara- 
'    lively  few.     In  its  true  significance  educa- 
tion means  something  more  than  the  ability 
to   unravel  the  involved  constructions   of 
a  dead  language;   something  more  than  a 
proficiency  in  mathematics  and  the  physical 
sciences;    something  more,  even,  than  can 
be  reaped  from  the  most  laborious  toil  of 
the  human  intellect.     It  is  a  drawing  out, 
a  developing   and  strengthening  of  every 
element,  every  faculty,  every  power  of  body, 
mind  and  spirit.     It  is  such  a  condition  of 
the  whole  being,  resulting  from  a  constant 
refinement,  that   the  several  powers  shall 
JTL  observe  the  highest  economy  in  their  sep- 

JL  arate  spheres,  while  the  power  of  co-ordi- 

\y  Dated  action  shall  be  rendered  more  perfect. 

One  may  so  cultivate  and  strengthen  the  muscles  of  his 
little  finger  that  he  may  be  able  to  support  with  it  twice 


I 


120  OUR  HOME. 

his  weight ;  while  the  main  muscles  of  his  body  are  so 
weak  that  he  may  not  be  able  to  lift  half  his  weight.  You 
could  not  call  such  a  man  a  strong  man.  So  one  may  cul- 
tivate hifl  mere  intellectuality  till  he  becomes  the  brilliant 
center  of  the  world's  admiration,  if  such  were  possible; 
but  you  cannot  call  him  educated  if  he  is  vicious,  if  his 
anger  is  uncontrollable,  if  he  is  a  drunkard  or  a  glutton,  if 
he  is  stubborn,  if  he  is  unconscientious,  if  he  is  irreverent, 
if  he  is  spiritually  blind,  if  he  is  selfish,  if  he  is  dead  to 
the  appeals  of  human  want  and  suffering. 

An  education  on  this  broad  basis  should  be  the  life- 
work  of  even  human  being. 

We  would  not  by  any  means  be  understood  as  under- 
valuing the  education  of  the  intellect.  The  importance  of 
the  education  of  a  power  is  commensurate  with  the  impor- 
tance of  the  power  itself,  and  certainly  no  power  of  our 
being  can  be  of  more  importance  than  the  intellect.  A 
college  education  is  within  the  reach  of  every  young  man 
who  possesses  the  ambition  for  it,  even  though  he  may 
possess  neither  friends  nor  money.  There  are  hundreds  of 
students  in  this  country  who  are  paying  their  own  way 
through  college  by  their  own  energy  and  labor.  In  most 
of  our  colleges,  a  young  man  of  activity  and  determination 
may  earn  during  the  vacation  enough  to  pay  his  expenses 
during  the  term.  So  that  he  who  thirsts  for  knowledge 
has  no  legitimate  excuse  if  he  does  not  avail  himself  of  a 
college  education.     None  should  ask  us  to  bring  other  evi- 


EDUCATION  OF  OUR  BOYS.  121 

dence  than  the  illustrious  triumphs  of  a  Garfield.  There 
never  yet  was  occupation  so  low,  nor  obstacle  so  broad  and 
high  as  to  defeat  the  resolve  of  a  human  soul.  No  fierce 
monster  of  opposition  ever  reared  its  hydra  head  in  the 
path  of  a  human  endeavor, 

That  would  not  shrink  and  cower 
Before  the  dauntless  power 
Of  a  fearless  human  will. 

There  are  those  who  are  conscious  that  they  were  richly 
endowed  by  nature  with  noble  gifts,  but  who  have  failed 
in  life  through  their  own  indolence.  It  is  customary  for 
these  to  comfort  themselves  in  their  sad  retrospection  by 
repeating  these  melancholy  lines  : — 

"  Full  many  a  gem  0f  purest  ray  serene 

The  dark  unfathomed  caves  of  ocean  bear; 
Full  many  a  flower  is  born  to  blush  unseen 
And  waste  its  sweetness  on  the  desert  air." 

Do  those  lines  prove  that  truth  is  not  an  essential  ele- 
ment of  poetry  ?  No,  for  they  are  believed  and  felt  to  be 
true  by  mistaken  souls,  and  in  that  way  they  perform  the 
function  of  truth.  They  convey,  or  rather  seem  to  convey, 
a  solemn  truth  to  those  who  have  unwittingly  surrendered 
life's  argument  to  the  merciless  opponent  of  circumstances 
by  the  unwise  concession  of  their  own  weakness. 

But  let  us  put  this  doctrine  to  the  practical  test.  We 
have  said  that  an  education  does  not  necessarily  mean  the 
discipline  of  a  college  course.  Indeed,  all  are  not  so  con- 
stituted that   a  college   education  would  bring  them  the 


UH  OUR  HOME. 

greatest  good  even  intellectually.  Nor  would  we  be  so 
radical  as  to  deny  that  circumstances  may  defeat  the  pur- 
pose of  merely  going  to  college,  but  the  circumstance  of 
poverty  is  not  a  valid  excuse.  At  any  rate,  all  may  become 
well  educated.  Those  men  are  almost  numberless  who 
have  become  great  and  useful  by  the  light  of  a  pine  torch, 
who  have  learned  the  science  of  mathematics  with  a  stick 
for  a  pencil  and  the  ocean  beach  for  a  slate.  But  suppose 
we  meet  the  barefoot  boy  in  the  street  picking  rags,  what 
word  of  advice  have  we  for  him  ?  He  will  listen  to  all  our 
line  talk  about  the  grand  possibilities  which  this  free  and 
glorious  republic  offers  to  the  poorest  and  the  lowliest ;  he 
will  listen  to  the  story  of  tjiose  great  souls  who  have 
climbed  to  glory  over  fence  rails  and  canal  boats;  and 
when  we  have  finished  he  will  meet  us  with  the  question, 
u  What  shall  I  do  and  how  shall  I  begin  ?  H  Let  us  see  if 
we  can  answer  these  questions.  As  the  first  step  toward 
the  desired  result,  he  can  pick  up  a  rag,  just  as  he  has 
been  wont  to  do,  and  examine  it,  not  as  heretofore  with 
the  simple  purpose  of  determining  whether  he  shall  put 
it  into  one  or  the  other  of  two  baskets;  but  he  can 
make  it  the  text-book  with  which  to  begin  an  education. 
He  can  ask  those  older  and  wiser  than  himself  what  it  is 
made  of  and  how  it  is  made.  They  will  point  him  to  the 
great  mill  yonder,  where,  if  he  tells  his  purpose,  he  can 
gain  admission  and  learn  something  of  the  mechanical 
principles  involved  in  the  manufacture  of  the  rag.     If  he 


EDUCATION  OF  OUR  BOYS.  123 

continues  to  make  inquiries  until  he  can  trace  a  piece  of 
cotton  through  all  its  transformations,  till  it  comes  out  a 
piece  of  fine  bleached  cotton,  he  has  surely  begun  an  edu- 
cation in  earnest.  He  can  save  a  penny  a  day  for  a  few 
days  and  buy  a  primer,  and  with  that  primer  under  his  arm 
he  may  politely  accost  any  lady  or  gentleman  with  these 
words,  "  I  am  determined  to  make  the  most  of  myself.  I 
want  to  learn  to  read.  I  have  bought  a  little  book.  Can 
you  give  me  any  advice  or  help  ?  "  There  is  not  a  man  or 
woman  in  all  that  great  city  with  a  heart  so  hard  as  not  to 
be  melted  to  sympathy  by  that  appeal.  He  would  be 
astonished  at  the  amount  of  love  and  sympathy  and  philan- 
thropy in  the  world  which  he  before  had  considered  so  cold 
and  heartless. 

Young  man;  boot-black;  rag-picker;  obscure  farmer 
boy;  or  dweller  in  the  dingy  haunts  of  the  city;  remem- 
ber that  Freedom's  goddess  holds  over  your  head  a  crown. 
She  never  crowns  a  royal  idiot ;  she  scorns  fine  clothes  and 
gloved  hands,  and  she  never  puts  that  crown  on  any  but 
a  sweaty  brow. 

From  every  lowly  cottage  roof, 

However  poor  and  brown, 
From  every  dusty  hovel,  points 

A  hand  at  glory's  crown. 

Although  it  is  true  that  men  can  be  good  farmers 
or  mechanics  without  being  able  to  read  or  write,  yet 
we  believe  that  the  greatest  possible  number  of  these 
classes  should  be   liberally  educated.     We   often  hear  it 


OUR  HOME. 

remarked  that  one  is  very  foolish  to  spend  so  much  time 
and  money  in  procuring  an  education  if  he  intends  to 
make  no  use  of  it,  the  remark  implying  that  if  he  intends 
to  enter  no  profession  the  time  and  money  thus  spent  are 
wasted. 

We  have  no  sympathy  or  patience  with  that  view  of 
life.  Man  is  above  the  brutes  chiefly  because  he  knows 
more.  It  is  a  greater  sin  to  take  his  life  than  that  of  a 
brute,  because  he  has  more  life  to  take,  because  his  facul- 
ties are  more  God-like  and  more  powerful. 

Now  education  means  simply  making  these  faculties 
powerful  and  God-like,  and  nothing  more.  Hence  an  edu- 
cated man  is  more  a  man  than  an  uneducated  one.  It  in- 
creases the  humanity  of  man  and  adds  to  our  very  being. 
So  that  if  one  is  to  spend  his  life  in  idleness  gazing  at  the 
clouds,  it  is  a  duty  he  owes  to  himself,  to  the  universe  and 
to  God,  to  make  the  most  of  himself  by  acquiring  a  liberal 
education. 

Knowledge,  like  virtue,  should  be  an  end  in  itself. 
Think  of  a  mother  teaching  her  children  to  be  virtuous 
because  their  prospects  of  financial  success  would  be 
greater!  We  should  pity  the  moral  weakness  of  that 
mother.  We  all  instinctively  recognize  virtue  as  a  sub- 
lime object  and  end  in  itself.  It  is  a  part  of  that  God-like 
nature  of  which  we  boast,  it  is  a  part  of  our  very  immor- 
tality. So  is  knowledge.  Why  then  should  we  talk  about 
knowledge   and    education  simply  as  means  to  facilitate 


EDUCATION  OF  OUR  BOYS.  125 

the  accumulation  of  dollars  and  cents?  Let  no  mother 
teach  her  boy  such  sophistry. 

The  capacity  of  the  soul  for  enjoyment  is  just  propor- 
tionate to  its  interior  development.  Knowledge  is  to  the 
mind  what  health  is  to  the  body,  it  makes  more  of  us. 

Education  is  the  handmaid  of  religion.  The  statistics 
of  every  community  will  show  that  criminals  are  taken 
from  the  ranks  of  the  ignorant.  If  the  best  and  highest 
minds  do  not  in  some  way  associate  knowledge  and  relig- 
ion, why- are  all  our  colleges  and  seminaries  under  the  di- 
rect supervision  of  the  Christian  church?  Education  has 
transformed  the  savage  into  the  Christian.  The  wide  gulf 
that  stretches  between  the  beastly  cannibal  and  the  God- 
like Christian  man  has  been  bridged  by  the  invisible  cables 
of  education,  and  away  into  the  infinitely  potential  fu- 
ture shall  stretch  this  golden  bridge,  till  the  farther  end 
shall  rest  upon  the  massive  masonry  of  the  eternal. 

Education  was  divinely  instituted.  Nature  is  the  school 
mistress  whom  God  employs  to  educate  his  children. 
This  sweet  and  patient  teacher  knows  how  to  win  our 
hearts  so  that  study  becomes  a  pleasure.  Everywhere  she 
has  placed  before  our  eyes  an  open  text  book  with  such 
fascinating  pictures  that  we  cannot  help  reading  the  de- 
scription of  them.  She  found  us  with  the  beasts.  Pa- 
tiently she  has  conducted  us  through  the  primary  school 
of  the  savage  and  barbarian,  through  the  grammar  school 
of  war  and  bloodshed,  till  we  have  entered  with  her  the 


126  OUR  HOME. 

high  school  of  modern  civilization.  She  will  lead  us  tri- 
umphantly through  and  admit  us  into  her  vast  university. 
There  she  ,\vill  show  us  mysteries  that  would  blind  us  now. 
In  her  laboratory  we  shall  learn  the  awful  secret  of  being. 
When  we  have  graduated  here  she  will  lead  us  proudly  up 
and  present  us  to  the  Great  Master,  at  whose  side  we  shall 
sit  and  under  whose  tuition  we  shall  turn  our  eyes  star- 
ward  and  forever  and  forever  shall  study  the  infinite  of 
infinites. 

"  The  heights  by  great  men  reached  and  kept 
Were  not  attained  by  sudden  flight; 
Bnt  they,  while  their  companions  slept, 
Were  toiling  upward  in  the  night." 


BOOKS  FOR  THE  HOME. 


SOME  one  has  said  that  "to  thoroughly  know 
one  book  is  to  have  a  key  to  all  libraries." 

The  vast  battalion  of  books  that  fill  the 
shelves  of  our  great  libraries  is  almost  ap- 
palling to  behold,  alcove  upon  alcove  piled 
into  the  very  domes  of  colossal  buildings. 
Think  of  what  they  contain  :  the  crystallized 
thought  and  wisdom  of  the  centuries,  and  yet 
where  shall  we  begin  to  make  an  analysis  of  that  wisdom. 
We  may  call  for  a  given  book,  but  we  find  that  book  laps 
over  on  both  sides  of  its  subject. 

Figuratively  speaking,  it  leaned  for  support  both  ways 
upon  its  shelf.  One  subject  is  dependent  upon  another  so 
that  we  cannot  thoroughly  know  a  single  book  in  all  that 
great  library  without  knowing  all.  The  classification  may 
be  admirable,  yet  it  is  after  all  but  the  classification  of  the 
dependent  parts  of  a  sublime  and  incomprehensible  whole. 
How  despair  seizes  the  lover  of  wisdom,  how  hopeless  seems 
his  task,  when  he  gazes  upon  those  awful  records  of  human 
thought.  His  feelings  may  be  defined  as  those  of  mental 
strangulation.  As  we  sit  beneath  the  great  dome  and 
watch  the  men  and  women,  with  noiseless  footsteps  and 


lis  OUR  HOME. 

with  the  anxiety  of  thought  upon  their  faces,  glide  in  and 
shift  their  burdens  and  pass  out,  how  appropriate  seems  the 
metaphor  that  would  make  the  library  a  vast  sea,  in  which 
these  men  and  women  are  strangling  and  in  their  mad  de- 
spair letting  go  of  one  straw  and  grasping  at  another,  vainly 
struggling  to  rise  above  the  overmastering  flood  for  one 
breath  of  thought  that  is  yet  unspoken,  or  to  speak  a  word 
that  is  yet  unwritten. 

Since,  then,  we  cannot  compass  the  range  of  human 
thought,  since  we  must  be  content  with  single  links  from 
an  unbroken  chain,  the  problem  fur  us  to  solve  becomes 
this,  viz.,  where  shall  we  break  that  chain,  what  books 
shall  we  read  ?  This  is  one  of  the  problems  which  parent- 
age imposes,  and,  perhaps,  there  is  no  more  vital  one 
which  j  are  called  upon  to  solve.     As  the  body  is 

chiefly  what  its  food  makes  it,  so  is  the  mind.  It  is  true 
that  the  infant  mind  has  its  positive  mental  proclivities, 
which  cannot,  and  surely  should  not,  be  eradicated,  yet 
they  may  and  should  be  guided,  and  thus  prevented  from 
producing  mental  excrescences  upon  the  character.  The 
books  of  a  family,  not  less  than  the  training  of  the  parents, 
shape  the  destiny  of  the  children.  The  books  of  a  family, 
however,  we  regret  to  say  are  not  always  solely  those 
which  are  on  exhibition  in  the  book-cases  and  on  the  table 
of  the  drawing-room.  There  are  in  too  many  families 
books  that  are  not  on  exhibition  at  all,  books  of  which  the 
parents  are  ignorant,  books  that  are  read  only  by  lamp- 


BOOKS  FOR  THE  HOME.  129 

light,  while  the  parents  suppose  that  no  lights  are  in  the 
house.  Parents !  if  you  knew  the  books  that,  while 
you  are  sleeping  at  midnight,  your  children  are  reading  by 
that  dim  light  which  casts  its  glimmer  into  the  street,  you 
would  blush  with  shame. 

Books  are  advertised  in  our  daily  newspapers  under  the 
veil  of  pathological  philanthropy,  to  which  the  advertiser 
dares  not  put  his  name.  Boys  are  directed  to  send  so 
many  postage  ■  stamps  to  a  post-office  box,  to  which  there 
are  many  keys.  A  hint  to  the  wise  is  all  that  is  necessary. 
We  will  not  enlarge  upon  this  class  of  literature  which 
disgraces  the  civilization  of  our  age.  But,  like  the  "  pesti- 
lence that  w  alketh  in  darkness,"  none  knows  or  feels  it  till 
it  breathes  its  fatal  breath  into  his  face.  This  hellish  lit- 
erature lies  piled  mountain  high  in  the  dark  and  subter- 
raneous caverns  of  society,  and  under  the  added  gloom  of 
midnight  it  is  read  by  the  baleful  torches  of  lust.  Our 
public  schools  are  flooded  with  books  that  the  teacher 
never  sees.  They  constitute  the  text  books  from  which 
the  lessons  are  learned  and  recited  without  the  aid  of  a 
tutor.  Perhaps  it  is  impossible  to  wholly  eradicate  this 
social  evil.  No  parent  is  sure  that  his  child  has  not  already 
been  contaminated.  But  parental  vigilance  is  the  only 
remedy  that  falls  within  the  province  of  this  work. 

We  have  said  enough  concerning  the  books  that  should 
not  be  read.  We  come  now  to  a  more  difficult  task,  viz., 
to  determine  what  books  should  be  read. 


ISO  OUR  HOME. 

Of  course  we  caii  give  no  definite  list  of  books  which 
should  be  read  by  each  and  every  one.  Courses  of  read- 
ing, however,  have  frequently  been  marked  out,  but  we 
have  little  faith  in  the  wisdom  of  such  a  method,  unless 
the  tastes  and  inborn  mental  tendencies  of  the  individual 
for  whom  the  course  is  marked  out  can  be  consulted. 
That  evil  feature  of  our  public  educational  institutions 
wliich  tends  to  destroy  the  originality  and  individuality  of 
the  child  and  student  by  forcing  all  casts  of  mind  into  a 
common  mold,  is  strong  enough  already  without  helping  on 
its  bad  effects  by  recommending  the  same  course  of  reading 
for  all.  We  do  not  mean  by  this,  of  course,  that  the  pa- 
rent, teacher,  and  guardian  should  not  advise  those  under 
their  charge  with  reference  to  the  selection  of  books.  We 
do  not  deny  the  wisdom  of  marking  out  a  course  of  read- 
ing, if  it  be  done  with  express  reference  to  the  mental 
peculiarities  of  those  for  whom  it  is  intended,  and  by 
some  one  who  is  thoroughly  conversant  with  those  pecul- 
iarities. 

Let  parents  study  the  minds  of  their  children.  Every 
parent  should  know  enough  of  the  general  principles  of 
mental  science  to  enable  him  to  make  tolerably  good  intel- 
lectual and  moral  classifications.  Until  he  does,  he  should 
hesitate  before  he  attempts  to  pilot  a  human  mind  up  the 
perilous  rapids  of  childhood  and  youth. 

Suppose  a  parent  perceives  that  his  child  is  greatly  in- 
terested in  shells,  fossils,  beetles,  and  all  those  things  that 


BOOKS  FOR  THE  HOME.  131 

pertain  to  zoological  science,  and  that  when  his  eye  for  the 
first  time  falls  on  a  book  devoted  to  this  science,  he  is  de- 
lighted beyond  measure.  Could  there  be  anything  more 
unjust  and  foolish  than  for  that  parent  to  withhold  all  such 
books  from  his  child  and  to  mark  out  a  course  of  reading 
which  should  consist  largely  of  psychological  works,  and 
books  in  which  he  is  not  at  all  interested,  and  compel  him  to 
toil  through  them.  It  is  not,  however,  impossible  that  the 
child  may  possess  a  taste  for  both  classes  of  books  which 
we  have  mentioned,  but  if  he  has  not  already  evinced  a 
taste  for  both,  it  is  surely  the  duty  of  the  parent  to  ascer- 
tain the  facts  of  the  case  before  he  compels  him  to  read 
those  books  for  which  he  has  evinced  no  taste.  If  the  boy 
is  continually  disposed  to  marshal  his  little  playmates  and 
march  them  around  the  house  to  the  music  of  a  tin  pan,  he 
will  be  a  good  candidate  for  West  Point,  and  will  proba- 
bly be  found  to  possess  a  latent  love  of  history,  and  may 
perhaps  become  an  historian.  If  he  is  disposed  to  spend 
much  of  his  time  in  the  work-shop  making  his  own  toys,  he 
will  delight  in  natural  philosophy  and  in  the  biographies  of 
great  inventors.  Parents  should  be  able  to  interpret  these 
outward  indications  of  innate  talent,  and,  regarding  them  as 
the  cries  of  a  hungry  mind,  should  be  quick  to  furnish  the 
proper  food.  If  the  boy  who  is  inclined  to  invent  and  to 
use  tools,  be  compelled  by  his  parents  to  study  history  most 
of  the  time,  instead  of  natural  philosophy,  he  will  very 
likely  conceive  a  general  dislike  for  all  kinds  of  reading. 


OUR  HOME, 

But  if  he  be  allowed  first  to  read  and  study  those  branches 
that  lie  along  the  line  of  his  taste  and  talents,  he  will  not 
only  acquire  a  taste  for  reading,  but  by  such  a  course  he 
will  also  early  develop  a  strong  individuality.  Every  mind 
should  be  first  developed  in  the  line  in  which  it  earliest 
evinces  an  unmistakable  tendency. 

This  secures  a  stability  of  purpose  and  an  individuality 
that  no  after  course  or  promiscuous  reading  can  destroy. 
The  mind  may  then  be  brought  into  shape,  as  it  were,  by 
supplementary  reading.  Nor  will  this  be  dillicult,  but  on 
the  contrary,  very  natural,  since  it  will  have  first  acquired 
a  taste  for  reading. 

Every  book  in  the  great  library  is  the  record  of  some 
man's  individuality,  and  when  you  have  read  the  book  you 
have  read  the  man.  Books  differ  as  men  differ.  A  person 
may  associate  with  a  hundred  different  people  of  that  char- 
acter which  one  meets  every  day  upon  the  street,  and  not 
be  conscious  of  the  modifying  influence  which  they  exert 
over  him.  But  he  may  afterwards  meet  a  single  individual 
in  whose  silent  presence  he  will  feel  the  tumultuous  thrill 
of  a  molding  influence.  The  meeting  of  such  people  is  a 
crisis  in  one's  life,  and  he  is  never  the  same  afterwards. 

So  with  books.  We  may  read  alcove  after  alcove  of  the 
books  that  make  up  the  body  of  a  public  library,  and 
never  feel  that  we  have  read  anything.  The  largest  library 
that  adorns  the  great  city  is  almost  useless  after  a  scholar 
has  carried  home  an  armful  of  books.     "Of  the  writing 


BOOKS  FOR  THE  HOME.  133 

of  many  books  there  is  no  end."  But  of  the  writing  of 
great  books  there  has  hardly  been  a  beginning. 

If  one  wishes  to  cultivate  his  social  nature  and  improve 
himself  generally  by  mingling  in  society,  he  cannot  do  it 
to  the  best  advantage  by  going  to  the  circus  or  the  theater. 
All  will  admit  that  the  most  effectual  way  is  to  select  a 
few  choice  associates  bettei*  than  himself. 

Now  since  a  library  is  but  a  proxy  for  society,  the  same 
rule  holds  good  in  respect  to  it.  Read  the  few  great  books ; 
books  that  work  revolutions  in  our  natures, and  burn  them- 
selves into  our  memory  and  become  a  part  of  ourselves. 

We  do  not  mean  that  every  child  should  read  Plato,  for 
Plato  would  be  the  same  as  no  book  at  all  to  a  child. 
"Robinson  Crusoe"  and  the  "Arabian  Nights"  are  great  and 
revolutionary  books  from  a  child's  standpoint,  and  when 
he  has  grown  stronger,  "Pilgrim's  Progress"  and  "Paul  and 
Virginia "  are  also  great  and  revolutionary.  A  few  such 
books  await  him  at  every  stage  of  his  development,  so  that 
no  one  need  read  any  but  the  great  and  good  books.  We 
have  used  the  word  few  with  reference  to  good  books  in  a 
relative  rather  than  an  absolute  sense.  Of  course  there 
are  in  all  libraries  very  many  good  and  great  books,  but 
when  compared  with  the  mass  they  are  certainly  few. 

But  how  shall  you  determine  whether  a  given  book  be 
worth  reading  or  not  ?  By  what  means  are  you  to  be  cer- 
tain that  you  have  selected  one  of  those  few  ?  By  the 
testimony   of  your   own   soul.     If  the  book  throws  your 


1U  OUR  HOME. 

whole  being  into  the  wild  tumult  of  mingled  thought  and 
aspiration,  if  it  lifts  you  till  you  feel,  in  the  sweet  decep- 
tion of  the  hour,  that  the  wings  of  your  own  spirit  leave 
their  shadows  upon  the  star-lit  heights,  and  you  almost 
wonder  that  you  yourself  have  allowed  those  grand  words 
to  remain  so  long  unsaid,  look  no  farther.  You  have  found 
the  book  you  were  looking  for,  and  it  bears  the  divine  im- 
print of  genius. 

All  book-,  wl Hither  great  or  small,  are  but  attempts  to 
translate  that  one  great  book  which  lies  open  before  human- 
ity, the  star-and-flower-writ  book  of  Nature.  There  are 
many  imperfect  translations  and  poor  commentaries,  and 
thrice  happy  is  he  who  can  read  the  original  without  trans- 
lation or  commentaries. 

"  Books  are  not  seldom  talismans  and  spells, 
By  which  the  magic  art  of  shrewder  wits 
Holds  an  unthinking  multitude  enthralled. 
Some  to  the  fascination  of  a  name 
Surrender  judgment,  hoodwinked.    Some  the  style 
Infatuates,  and  through  labyrinths  and  wilds 
Of  error  leads  them,  by  a  tune  entranced. 
While  sloth  seduces  more,  too  weak  to  bear 
The  insupportable  fatigue  of  thought, 
And  swallowing,  therefore,  without  pause  or  choice, 
The  total  grist  unsifted,  husks  and  all. 
But  trees  and  rivulets,  whose  rapid  course 
Defies  the  check  of  winter,  haunts  of  deer, 
And  sheep-walks  populous  with  bleating  lambs, 
And  lanes  in  which  the  primrose  ere  her  time 
Peeps  through  the  moss  that  clothes  the  hawthorn  root, 
Deceive  no  student.     Wisdom  there  and  Truth, 
Not  shy,  as  in  the  world,  and  to  be  won 
By  slow  solicitation,  seize  at  once 
The  roving  thought,  and  fix  it  on  themselves." 


EVENINGS  AT  HOME. 


|  HE  evening  hours  are  the  holy  hours  of  home 
life.     They  are  the  hours  in  which  there  is 
the  freest  play  of  all  the  hallowed  influences 
that  come   from  the  domestic   relation ;  the 
hours  in  which  the  radical  forces  of  the  home 
\'\     7Mfi      are   focalized  and  brought  to   their  highest 
* ' i  :y'        efficiency. 
$$*  There  is  really  just  as  much  sunshine  on  a 

A  cloudy  day  as  when  the  sky  is  clear,  but  the 

*  sickly   growth   of  vegetation  during  cloudy 

weather  proclaims  its  ineffectiveness.  So  the  home  may 
exert  just  as  much  actual  influence  when  its  sunshine 
is  intercepted  by  the  clouds  of  care  and  busy  toil : 
when  the  merciless  dispatch  with  which  "father's"  din- 
ner must  be  prepared,  or  with  which  some  of  those  many 
labors  inseparably  connected  with  the  home  life  must  be 
performed,  has  so  absorbed  the  time  and  energy  of  the 
family  that  each  member  seems  to  be  an  illustration  of  the 
"  survival  of  the  fittest."  Under  these  circumstances  the 
home  may  send  forth  as  large  an  amount  of  influence, 
and  yet  such  influence  cannot  reach  the  lives  and  charac- 


136  OUR  HOME. 

ters  of  those  who  have  a  claim  upon  it.  Such  may  be 
called  latent  influence. 

It  is  only  when  the  "day  is  done"  that  home  exhibits 
its  sweetest  and  serenest  life.  It  is  when  the  sun  has 
gone  down  that  the  home  influences  become  actual  and 
potent. 

In  opening  the  tender  buds  of  young  characters,  the 
light  from  the  hearth-stone  is  far  more  efficient  than  the 
sunlight. 

The  distinctive  characteristics  of  the  home  life  are  mani- 
fested most  strongly  when  the  labors  of  the  day  are  ended 
and  the  family  gather  round  the  fireside  for  the  evening. 
One  hour  of  evening  home  life  is  worth  a  month  of  the 
ordinary  daily  experience.  It  matters  little  where  our 
days  are  spent  if  we  spend  our  evenings  at  home. 

Man's  soul  is  not  receptive  during  the  day,  for  its  atti- 
tude is  not  favorable.  The  labor  of  the  day  puts  the  mind 
into  that  attitude  in  which  it  resists  the  shaping  influences 
of  life.  Labor  itself  is  in  part  a  process  of  spiritual  resist- 
ance, so  that  the  soul  that  toils  is  comparatively  safe  from 
the  snares  of  temptation. 

During  the  hours  of  labor  we  are  also  less  susceptible  to 
good  influences  as  well  as  to  evil  ones.  The  whole  being 
puts  itself  upon  the  defensive  while  it  toils.  Satisfied 
with  its  own  condition,  it  refuses  to  be  changed  by  outward 
influences.  In  this  principle  we  find  the  explanation  of 
the  adage  "  idleness  is  the  parent  of  vice."     The  evening 


EVENINGS  AT  HOME.  13? 

is  the  hour  when  crafty  Satan  preaches  most  eloquently. 
It  is  also  the  hour  at  which  he  can  gather  the  largest  and 
most  attentive  audience.  In  our  great  cities  Satan's 
churches  are  crowded  every  evening. 

But,  fortunately,  the  evening  hour  is  also  the  hour  in 
which  the  good  angel  can  gather  his  largest  audience,  and 
he  who  would  baffle  Satan's  influence  must  preach  in  the 
evening.  The  evening  is  the  hour  when  the  protecting 
power  of  home  is  greatest ;  it  is  the  hour  when  its  protec- 
tion is  most  needed.  We  see  a  divine  wisdom  in  this. 
The  only  hour  in  the  day  when  the  laboring  young  man  is 
vulnerable  to  temptation  is  when  his  labor  is  ended  and 
the  mind  relaxed,  and  just  at  this  needed  hour  the  home 
exerts  a  doubled  influence.  Parents  need  not  be  at  all 
anxious  concerning  the  character  of  their  boys  who  from 
choice  stay  at  home  evenings,  but  they  should  never  feel 
at  ease  concerning  those  who  desire  to  spend  their  even- 
ings away  from  home. 

We  do  not  mean  that  children  should  never  go  away 
from  home  evenings.  The  evening  is  a  very  proper  and 
agreeable  time  to  visit  our  neighbors,  and  children  should 
be  allowed  frequently  to  spend  the  evening  with  their 
neighbors'  children.  This  is  only  a  transfer  of  home  in- 
fluence. They  are  at  home  in  one  sense  when  at  their 
neighbors'  home,  or  at  least  they  are  surrounded  by  home 
influences. 

It  is  an  excellent  practice  to  allow  children,  even  when 


138  OUR  HOME. 

very  young,  to  visit  their  neighbors'  children  alone  in  the 
evening.  The  reason  of  this  may  not  at  first  be  obvious, 
but  we  think  that  upon  reflection  every  parent  will  per- 
ceive the  wisdom  of  it. 

In  the  first  place,  it  is  a  mild  lesson  in  self  reliance  and 
independent  action,  which  every  parent  should  try  to  de- 
velop in  the  minds  of  his  children. 

Again,  all  children  who  are  to  develop  into  noble  men 
and  women  must  sooner  or  later  be  brought  into  contact 
with  temptations  to  every  form  of  improper  action,  and 
the  earlier  this  process  commences,  and  the  more  gradually 
they  encounter  the  temptations  of  life,  the  better  for  their 
welfare.  And,  certainly,  sending  children  to  their  neigh- 
bors' alone  in  the  evening,  thus  putting  them  upon  their 
own  sense  of  propriety,  and  subjecting  them  to  the  little 
temptations  to  trifling  breaches  of  etiquette,  which  always 
present  themselves  when  little  children  gather  in  groups, 
is  one  of  the  most  judicious  methods  of  applying  this  prin- 
ciple. It  is  not  well  for  parents  in  such  cases  to  be  over 
strict  in  regard  to  the  hour  of  the  children's  return.  It  is 
far  better  to  teach  them  to  exercise  their  own  sense  of  pro- 
priety in  this  matter. 

Let  them  be  taught  that  it  is  a  gross  breach  of  good 
manners  to  stay  much  beyond  a  certain  hour,  perhaps 
nine  o'clock. 

But  this  is  far  different  in  its  effect  from  commanding 
them  to  start  when  the  clock  strikes  nine.     In  the  one  case 


EVENINGS  AT  HOME. 

they  are  compelled  to  go  home  by  an  inward  se 
priety,  and  in  the  other  by  an  outward  sense  of  autKorn 
It  is  always  a  cross  for  children  to  leave  their  playmates, 
and  if  they  can  just  as  well  be  taught  to  make  this  sacrifice 
through  their  own  sense  of  propriety,  their  parents  should 
certainly  rejoice  in  this  early  opportunity  to  give  them  a 
practical  lesson  in  self  denial.  If  the  child  is  compelled  by 
an  outward  authority  located  at  home,  to  withdraw  from  a 
pleasant  associate,  he  is  quite  likely  to  conceive  a  dislike 
for  that  authority  and  for  the  place  toward  which  it  con- 
strains him. 

Then  let  the  children  visit.  Let  the  parents  visit  in  the 
evenings.  Let  all  the  members  of  the  family  feel  that  the 
home  is  not  a  prison.  This  is  the  only  way  in  which  chil- 
dren can  be  taught  to  love  home  and  to  feel  that  home  is  the 
best  place  to  spend  their  evenings.  You  cannot  make  them 
feel  this  by  compelling  them  to  stay  at  home  evenings.  If 
a  child  has  acquired  a  distaste  for  home,  the  evil  must  be 
corrected  by  the  use  of  mild  stratagem. 

One  of  the  strongest  arguments  for  the  habit  of  spending 
the  evenings  at  home  is  found  in  the  opportunity  which 
they  offer  to  the  young  for  self-improvement. 

Horace  Mann  once  wrote  a  beautiful  truth  in  the  form 
of  an  advertisement,  "  Lost,  yesterday,  somewhere  between 
sunrise  and  sunset,  two  golden  hours,  each  set  with  sixty 
diamond  minutes.  No  reward  is  offered,  for  they  are  gone 
forever." 


140  OUR  HOME. 

We  would  like  to  have  the  ordinary  young  man  of 
twenty-five  look  over  our  shoulder  while  we  do  a  little  fig- 
uring. We  mean  that  young  man,  however,  who  is  always 
complaining  because  he  hasn't  time. 

We  mean  that  young  man  who  is  mourning  because  he 
hasn't  an  education,  who  would  have  gone  to  college  could 
he  have  spared  the  time. 

We  want  to  show  him  how  many  of  those  golden  hours 
set  with  diamond  minutes  he  has  thrown  away  since  he  was 
sixteen  years  old.  It  is  nine  years  since  then,  and  in  each 
of  those  years  there  were  three  hundred  and  sixty-five 
evenings.  Setting  aside  the  fifty-two  Sunday  evenings, 
which,  however,  might  be  employed  to  advantage  without 
violating  the  fourth  commandment,  then  taking  out  fifty- 
two  evenings  more,  one  for  every  week,  for  visiting  and 
entertaining  visitors,  there  will  remain  two  hundred  and 
sixty-one.  Now  each  one  of  these  two  hundred  and  sixty- 
one  evenings  contains  four  of  those  golden  hours.  Hence  in 
one  }Tear  he  throws  away  one  thousand  and  forty-foiir  hours. 
During  the  nine  years  from  sixteen  to  twenty-five,  he 
throws  away  nine  times  this  number,  or  nine  thousand 
three  hundred  and  ninety-six  hours. 

Just  think  of  it.  The  average  college  student  spends 
about  four  hours  a  day  in  study.  There  are  five  days  in  a 
week  in  which  he  studies,  making  twenty  hours  a  week. 
Thirty-eight  weeks  constitute  the  college  year,  making 
seven  hundred  and  sixty  hours  which  he  studies  in  a  year. 


EVENINGS  AT  HOME.  141 

There  are  four  years  in  the  college  course.  Hence  in 
his  whole  course  he  studies  four  times  seven  hundred  and 
sixty,  or  three  thousand  and  forty  hours.  This  is  less 
than  a  third  as  many  as  the  young  man  may  throw  away 
between  the  ages  of  sixteen  and  twenty-five.  Should  not 
every  such  young  man  feel  indignant  with  himself?  Time 
enough  spent  on  the  street  corners,  in  the  stores,  in  the 
hotel,  or  in  the  bar-room,  to  go  through  college  three  times. 
Nine  thousand  golden  hours  gemmed  with  five  hundred 
and  forty  thousand  diamond  minutes,  gone  forever. 

Perhaps  it  may  seem  even  cruel  in  us  to  remind  the 
young  man  of  his  terrible  loss,  but  it  is  never  too  late  to  do 
better.  A  noble  endeavor  can  never  be  too  early  or  too 
late.  We  would  not  cause  any  young  man  a  useless  pain- 
fill  regret.  He  cannot  profit  by  mourning  over  spilt  milk, 
but  if  he  will  keep  his  pan  right  side  up  for  five  years  to 
come  he  can  go  through  college  yet,  and  graduate  when 
he  is  thirty  years  old,  and  have  the  honor  of  presenting  to 
himself  his  own  diploma. 

But  not  alone  for  the  opportunities  for  culture  which 
they  afford  are  evenings  to  be  prized.  The  evening  in  the 
happy  home  is  a  fragment  of  heaven,  we  cannot  afford  to 
lose  it.  The  ineffable  joy  that  human  nature  is  consti- 
tuted to  experience  at  the  evening  hour  around  the  golden 
altar  of  home,  is  a  symbol  and  a  prophecy  of  that  which 
every  truly  and  interiorly  developed  soul  has  reason  to 
believe  is  in  store  for  him.     It  is  the  only  place  where  each 


L42  OUR  HOME. 

and  every  faculty  and  power  of  mind  and  body  may  legiti- 
mately act,  and  with  that  divine  spontaneity  that  feels  no 
pressure  nor  restraint.  When  reason  acts  through  the  day 
it  is  spurred  to  action  by  the  necessities  of  daily  duty,  and 
the  pleasure  which  all  organic  activity,  both  mental  and 
physical,  is  intended  to  produce  is  lost  in  the  mad  whirl  of 
life's  tumultuous  conflict.  The  same  is  true  of  that  innate 
tendency  to  mathematical  computation  which  is  capable  of 
conferring  so  much  pleasure  by  the  revelations  it  gives  of 
the  universality  of  divine  law  and  order.  But  when  these 
powers  act  amid  the  cheerfulness  of  the  evening  entertain- 
ment at  home,  in  the  playful  solution  of  problems  and 
puzzles,  they  act  with  that  spontaneity  and  accompanying 
pleasure  on  their  own  account  which  hints  at  their  origin 
and  their  destiny.  This  same  principle  applies  to  every 
power  of  being.  Who  does  not  still  carry  in  his  mind  the 
sweet  pictures  of  happy  evenings  at  home,  when  all  the 
family  sat  by  the  fire,  mother  with  her  knitting,  and  father 
with  his  stories  of  prouder  days,  while  the  kitten  gam- 
bolled upon  the  floor  or  played  with  the  ball  of  yarn  that 
fell  from  mother's  lap,  and  while  the  fire-light  moved  upon 
the  wall  like  the  waving  of  a  white  wing  in  the  darkness, — 
as  if  heaven  could  not  permit  so  much  joy  upon  the  earth 
without  having  its  representative  there?  Now  mother  tar- 
dily rises  to  light  the  lamp,  and  the  children  gather  round 
the  table  with  slate  and  pencil  to  grapple  with  those  little 
tasks  and  problems  that  only  sweeten  life's  remembrances. 


EVENINGS  AT  HOME.  143 

How  indelibly  through  all  the  change-freighted  years 
this  picture  remains  upon  the  canvas  of  the  soul.  Unlike 
the  perishing  works  of  genius,  time  never  bleaches  the 
canvas  nor  turns  the  picture  pale.  Gaze  on  that  picture, 
O  youth.  Nor  turn  your  eyes  aside  when  Temptation 
with  perfumed  robes  sweeps-  past  thee  in  the  tumultuous 
rush  of  beauty's  carnival.  When  we  turn  our  eyes  from 
the  soft  colors  of  a  beautiful  picture,  to  gaze  upon  the 
brilliancy  of  the  electric  light,  and  then  turn  again  to  view 
the  picture,  how  dim  the  colors,  how  blurred  is  the  whole 
picture  till  we  have  steadily  and  persistently  gazed  for  a 
long  time. 

Learn  a  lesson  from  the  analogy  that  exists  between  the 
spirit's  eye  and  that  of  the  body.  That  sweet  picture  of 
your  home,  O  youth,  gleams  not  brilliantly  but  softly 
and  forever  in  the  evening  fire-light.  Reflect  before  you 
turn  your  eyes  from  that  soft  fire-light  to  gaze  long  upon 
the  splendors  where  beauty  glides  'neath  lights  that 
dazzle. 

"  Gladly  now  we  gather  round  it, 

For  the  toiling  day  is  done, 
And  the  gay  and  solemn  twilight 

Follows  down  the  golden  sun. 
Shadows  lengthen  on  the  pavement, 

Stalk  like  giants  through  the  gloom, 
Wander  past  the  dusky  casement, 

Creep  around  the  fire-lit  room. 
Draw  the  curtain,  close  the  shutters, 

Place  the  slippers  by  the  fire; 
Though  the  rude  wind  loudly  mutters, 

What  care  we  for  wind  sprite's  ire  ? 


144  OUR  HOME. 

"  What  care  we  for  outward  seeming, 

Fickle  fortune's  frown  or  smile  ? 
If  around  us  love  is  beaming, 

Love  can  human  ills  beguile. 
'Neath  the  cottage  roof  and  palace, 

From  the  peasant  to  the  king, 
All  are  quaffing  from  life's  chalice 

Bubbles  that  enchantment  bring. 
Grates  are  glowing,  music  flowing 

From  the  lips  we  love  the  best; 
O,  the  joy,  the  bliss  of  knowing 

There  are  hearts  whereon  to  rest! 

u  Hearts  that  throb  with  eager  gladness — 

Hearts  that  echo  to  our  own — 
"While  grim  care  and  haunting  sadness 

Mingle  ne'er  in  look  or  tone. 
Care  may  tread  the  halls  of  daylight, 

Sadness  haunt  the  midnight  hour, 
But  the  weird  and  witching  twilight 

Brings  the  glowing  hearthstone's  dower. 
Altar  of  our  holiest  feelings  ! 

Childhood's  well-remembered  shrine  ! 
Spirit  yearnings— soul  revealings — 

Wreaths  immortal  round  thee  twine  !  " 


SELF  CULTURE. 


jULTURE  is  the  constant  elimination  of  use- 
less movements,  and  the  attainment  of  in- 
creasing economy  in  the  expenditure  of  our 
forces.  The  Indian  has  plenty  of  strength, 
*but  the  white  man  of  half  his  weight  and 
strength,  who  has  acquired  the  art  of  boxing, 
is  more  than  a  match  for  him ;  and  this  for 
the  simple  reason  that  the  Indian  has  not  yet 
learned  to  eliminate  the  movements  that  do 
not  count.  He  is  a  spendthrift  as  regards 
forces.  But  the  white  man,  by  means  of  pa- 
tient culture,  has  learned  to  omit  all  useless 
movements,  and  to  expend  his  forces  in  that 
manner  and  at  that  time  and  place  in  which  they  will  tell 
the  most.  He  does  not  bend  a  joint  or  contract  a  muscle 
that  does  not  produce  some  desirable  outward  result. 

It  is  easy  to  detect  an  uncultured  person  in  society ;  for 
example,  when  he  attempts  to  walk  across  a  hall  or  draw- 
ing-room in  the  presence  of  spectators.  It  is  not  because 
he  does  not  perform  all  the  movements  necessary  to  take 
him  to  the  other  side,  but  because  he  performs  certain  other 

movements  that  interfere  with,  or  obstruct  the  essential 
10 


146  OUR  HOME. 

movements ;  such  as  the  turning  of  the  head  from  side  to 
side,  accompanied  by  a  wasteful  expenditure  of  thought  in 
the  form  of  a  painful  consciousness  that  people  are  gazing 
at  him.  There  is  in  his  blush  a  wasteful  expenditure  of 
vital  forces  in  compelling  the  blood  to  the  surface.  All 
such  movements  are  uneconomical  because  they  produce 
no  desirable  or  useful  result.  Nature  has  agreed  to  give 
us  a  positive  dislike  for  all  such  movements,  and  we  call 
them  awkward.  She  has  also  made  us  susceptible  of  a  posi- 
tive delight  from  witnessing  economical  movements,  and  at 
her  suggestion  we  call  them  graceful.  Graceful  move- 
ments, then,  are  simply  economical  movements.  If  the 
person  referred  to  should  walk  across  the  hall  with  the 
least  possible  expenditure  of  vital  and  mental  force,  the 
movement  would  necessarily  be  graceful.  Civilization  is 
but  aggregate  culture,  and  since  culture  is  the  spirit  and 
essence  of  economy,  we  see  why  it  is  that  the  science  of 
political  economy  has  always  developed  itself  simultane- 
ously with  civilization.  Indeed,  civilization  and  political 
economy  are  one  and  the  same. 

Such,  then,  is  the  nature  of  culture  in  the  abstract. 
Let  us  follow  out  the  principle  in  its  application  to  our 
physical,  mental,  and  moral  natures,  and  see  whether  we 
can  find  in  it  anything  that  shall  be  of  use  to  us  in  the 
development  of  our  lives  and  characters.  Our  muscles 
are  cultured  when  we  can  use  them  with  no  waste  of  force. 
Our   intellects   are  cultured  when   we    can  solve   a  prob- 


SELF  CULTURE.  147 

lem  or  arrive  at  a  conclusion  by  the  shortest  and  most 
direct  route  of  logical  deduction.  Our  moral  nature  is 
cultured  when  duty  becomes  a  graceful  and  economical 
movement  in  the  soul ;  when  the  useless  movements  of  sin 
are  eliminated ;  when  all  our  spiritual  forces  are  concentra- 
ted, and  it  no  longer  becomes  necessary  to  divide  the  force 
by  detailing  a  squadron  to  guard  the  harbor  of  love  and 
duty  against  the  pirate  fleets  of  selfishness.  When  we  can 
say  "  Thy  will  be  done,"  without  a  diverting  and  wasting 
struggle  with  ourselves.  The  reason  why  certain  men 
have  been  able  to  accomplish  such  wonderful  results  in  the 
field  of  thought  and  investigation  is  because,  through  long 
toil  and  patient  culture,  they  have  learned  to  concentrate 
the  mental  forces  by  eliminating  all  useless  thoughts.  Like 
the  bee,  which  always  takes  a  straight  line,  they  have  ac- 
quired an  intellectual  instinct  by  which  they  are  enabled 
to  take  the  shortest,  directest,  and  consequently  most  eco- 
nomical line  of  logic  links  between  their  intellectual 
standpoint  and  the  solution  that  they  crave.  And  he  who 
can  do  this,  he  who  can  take  the  shortest  road,  can  surely 
go  farther  and  accomplish  more  in  the  same  time  than  he 
who  is  compelled  to  hunt  out  his  path,  to  travel  through 
all  the  by-ways,  the  briers,  the  brambles,  and  the  under- 
brush, and  at  last,  perhaps,  lose  his  way  altogether  in  the 
vast  swamp  of  intellectual  uncertainty. 

All  culture  in  its  ultimate   analysis  is  necessarily  self 
culture.     Culture  when  used  as  a  verb  always  means  to 


lis  OUR  HOME. 

afford  the  conditions  for  self-direction  or  self-development. 
If  we  attempt  to  culture  a  horse  or  a  dog  we  accomplish 
the  result  only  by  inducing  him  to  make  certain  volun- 
tary movements  in  the  direction  of  our  will.  But  if  he 
does  not  choose  to  act  according  to  our  will,  all  culture 
ceases  until  he  becomes  willing  to  obey.  We  cannot  cul- 
ture anything  that  has  the  power  of  volition.  Hence, 
when  we  break  a  colt,  or  train  a  dog,  he  cultures  himself  at 
our  suggestion.  And  thus  it  is  that  all  the  culture  we 
receive  in  tins  life  must  be  self  culture.  Teachers  may 
suggest,  but  we  must  execute ;  they  may  advise,  but  we 
must  do  the  work. 

The  sense  in  which  we  have  used  the  word  "  culture  " 
is  not  very  different  from  that  in  which  we  have  used  the 
word  "  education  "  in  the  chapter  on  the  "  Education  of 
our  Boys."  Indeed,  all  that  we  have  said  byway  of  defini- 
tion in  either  chapter  might  have  been  said  with  equal  pro- 
priety in  the  other.  We  will  allow  the  one  to  supplement 
the  other. 

The  words  educate,  train  and  culture  are,  for  all  prac- 
tical purposes,  synonymous,  and  may  be  used  interchange- 
ably. 

In  our  chapter  on  "  Home  Training  n  we  have  presented 
some  similar  thoughts  concerning  the  importance  of  train- 
ing or  cultivating  the  physical,  intellectual,  and  moral  na- 
ture in  the  proper  order,  and  in  the  right  way.  That, 
however,  was  intended  chiefly  for  advice  to  parents  con- 


SELF  CULTURE.  149 

cerning  the  management  of  children  too  young  to  attempt 
self  culture.  But  the  primary  constitution  does  not 
change.  What  the  child  requires,  the  youth  and  young 
man  require,  only,  perhaps,  in  larger  quantities  and  in 
different  proportion.  Hence  in  this  chapter  we  shall  aim 
to  give  such  helpful  advice  as  will  enable  young  men  and 
women  to  continue  the  process  that  their  parents  helped 
them  to  begin.  They  may  now  call  it  self  culture,  to  de- 
note a  higher  stage  of  the  same  process.  The  first  and 
chief  aim  of  self  culture,  as  of  all  education,  should  be 
symmetry.  The  undue  strengthening  of  one  part  or  fac- 
ulty, to  the  neglect  of  another,  is  not  culture,  but  accord- 
ing to  our  definition  it  is  the  reverse,  for  it  destroys  that 
power  of  co-ordinate  action  and  economical  expenditure  of 
effort  in  which  culture  consists.  No  power  of  mind  or 
body  exists  independent  of  other  powers,  and  no  one  can 
be  unduly  strengthened  without  peril  to  the  other  and 
weaker  ones.  If  the  stomach  be  enlarged  by  overeating, 
while  the  lungs  be  kept  weak  and  small,  the  whole  body 
will  become  diseased  and  the  mind  also ;  for  a  sound  mind 
cannot  exist  in  an  unhealthy  body.  The  stomach,  being 
large,  will  crave  a  large  amount  of  food,  but  the  lungs,  be- 
ing small,  cannot  furnish  oxygen  enough  to  oxidize  the 
carbon  that  is  furnished  to  the  blood  by  the  stomach ;  so 
the  system  becomes  clogged  ;  corrupt  and  troublesome  ul- 
cers appear,  and  perhaps  consumption,  and  all  because  the 
stomach  was  enlarged.     Not  because  the  lungs  were  not 


150  OUR  HOME. 

cultivated,  but  because  the  stomach  was  cultivated  alone, 
as  if  it  were  an  independent  organ.  Similar  disasters  fol- 
low the  independent  and  separate  training  of  any  of  the 
other  physical  powers.  If  the  stomach,  the  appetite,  the 
lungs,  the  liver,  the  kidneys,  the  circulation,  the  skin,  and 
the  muscles  be  all  cultivated  together,  the  more  they  are 
cultivated  the  better.  It  is  absolutely  impossible  to  carry 
that  kind  of  culture  to  excess.  But  if  we  cannot  cultivate 
all,  it  is  far  better  not  to  specially  cultivate  any  of  the 
physical  functions. 

It  is  a  well  known  fact  that  circus  performers  are  very 
short  lived ;  and  yet  we  would  naturally  expect  them  to 
live  to  a  very  old  age.  How  full  and  powerful  their  lungs 
are !  How  agile  !  How  almost  marvelous  the  strength  of 
their  muscles !  How  erect  they  are  !  What  free  play  all 
the  internal  organs  must  have !  They  are  compelled  by 
their  employment  to  live  temperately;  their  food  is  that 
which  is  recommended  by  the  highest  medical  authority  ; 
they  sleep  in  well  ventilated  rooms.  It  would  seem  that 
if  earthly  immortality  were  possible,  the  professional  gym- 
nasts should  possess  the  boon. 

But  instead  the  average  duration  of  their  lives  is  very 
short.  How  shall  we  account  for  this  paradox  ?  Simply 
by  that  principle  just  named,  which  demands  the  symmet- 
rical and  proportionate  development  of  all  the  functions. 
They  carry  training  of  the  muscles  to  such  an  extent,  that 
like  wasting  fire  they  consume  their  vitality.     In  spite  of 


SELF  CULTURE.  151 

all  hygienic  regimen  and  temperance,  their  training  is  not 
symmetrical,  although  it  may  appear  to  be  such.  The  hu- 
man body  is  a  delicate  machine,  and  no  wheel  can  be  made 
to  turn  faster  or  slower  than  it. was  intended  to  turn  with- 
out tearing  off  the  cogs.  But  it  is  often  found  that  in  the 
same  individual  certain  vital  organs  even  without  special 
culture  are  larger  and  more  powerful  than  others,  and  this 
is  doubtless  the  reason  why  many  apparently  healthy  peo- 
ple die  young.  It  is  because  they  are  born  with  some  of 
the  vital  organs  powerfully  developed,  while  others  are 
weak,  and  the  strong  ones  consume  the  vitality  that  the 
weak  ones  have  not  the  energy  to  appropriate.  It  should 
be  the  first  object  of  culture  to  balance  the  powers  by  cul- 
tivating the  weak  and  restraining  the  overaction  of  the 
strong.  After  this  most  desirable  result  has  been  secured, 
all  the  functions  should  be  trained  alike,  and  the  whole 
carried  to  the  highest  possible  state  of  culture.  It  is 
usually  an  easy  matter  to  ascertain  what  organs  of  the 
body  are  weak,  and  what  strong;  but  in  case  the  facts  are 
not  obvious,  a  physician  should  be  consulted,  who  should 
be  requested  to  test  all  the  vital  organs ;  not  to  doctor 
them,  but  to  measure  their  strength.  If  the  brain  and 
nervous  system  are  predominant,  much  muscular  exercise 
should  be  taken,  while  the  mental  powers,  and  especially 
the  imagination,  should  be  restrained.  If  the  reverse  is 
true,  the  brain  should  be  forced  to  act,  and  the  tendency 
to  muscular  action  should  be  held  in  check.     If  the  mus- 


152  OUR  HOME. 

cles  are  stronger  than  the  frame-work  of  the  body,  then 
great  care  should  be  used  not  to  exercise  the  muscles  to 
their  full  extent,  for  such  a  practice  would  be  sure  to 
strain  the  body  and  injure  the  vital  organs.  This  con- 
dition is  oftener  seen  in  women  than  in  men ;  hence 
women  frequently  injure  themselves  by  lifting.  ■  If  the 
muscles  are  weaker  than  the  frame-work,  then  little  injury 
can  result  from  the  full  and  unrestrained  use  of  the  mus- 
cles. But  Nature  is  very  kind  to  those  who  are  too  igno- 
rant to  ascertain  their  own  weaknesses.  She  has  so  con- 
stituted us  that  the  best  and  most  useful  form  of  exercise 
is  that  of  walking  or  running.  And  that  is  just  the  kind 
of  exercise  that  the  necessities  of  life  compel  us  to  take 
the  most  of.  This  form  of  exercise  actually  has  a  ten- 
dency to  balance  the  organic  developments,  for  it  brings 
into  action  every  organ  of  the  body,  and  in  such  a  way  as 
to  benefit  the  weak  ones  relatively  more  than  the  strong 
ones.  For  instance,  if  the  lungs  are  weak  and  the  muscles 
strong,  then  the  lungs  will  be  the  first  to  say  stop ;  and 
they  will  say  so  just  at  that  moment  when  they  have  re- 
ceived the  greatest  possible  amount  of  good  from  the  run- 
ning. 

The  lungs  will  have  received  just  enough  exercise  to  do 
them  good  long  before  the  muscles  have  had  enough  to  test 
their  endurance,  or  to  strengthen  them  much.  If  the  mus- 
cles are  weak  and  the  lungs  strong,  then  the  muscles  will 
control  the  amount  of  running,  and  adapt  it  to  their  own 


SELF  CULTURE.  153 

particular  needs.  Long  before  the  lungs  have  received  ex- 
ercise enough  to  do  them  much  good,  the  muscles  will  have 
received  just  enough  to  do  them  the  greatest  possible 
amount  of  good.  Thus  we  see  how  it  is  that  running  is 
the  best  exercise  in  the  world,  and,  to  a  certain  extent, 
relieves  us  of  the  responsibility  of  ascertaining  which  are 
our  weak  organs,  for  it  will  pick  them  out  for  us  and  make 
them  strong.  People  both  walk  and  run  far  too  little.  It 
is,  perhaps,  impossible  for  human  beings  or  animals  to  be 
born  with  all  their  organs  in  a  state  of  perfect  balance,  and 
running  seems  to  be  Nature's  means  of  balancing  them,  for 
she  gives  the  young  of  all  animals,  the  human  species 
included,  an  irrepressible  impulse  to  run  almost  contin- 
ually, and  during  that  age,  too,  in  which  their  organs  are 
most  easily  modified. 

As  a  rule,  children  need  no  other  physical  culture  than 
their  own  freedom.  A  child  in  the  woods  for  one  day  will 
do  more  in  the  direction  of  curing  an  organic  weakness 
than  all  the  doctors  of  Christendom. 

We  have  spoken  thus  minutely  on  the  subject  of  physi- 
cal culture  because  physical  culture  is  not  only  the  basis  of 
all  culture,  but  the  same  general  directions  which  we  have 
given,  are  as  applicable  to  intellectual  and  moral  culture 
as  to  physical. 

Symmetry  is  the  one  idea  that  should  be  kept  promi- 
nently in  view  in  all  forms  of  culture.  But  the  laws  of 
the   mind  are   such  as   to  allow  considerable  margin  for 


154  OUR  HOME. 

variety's  sake.  One  need  not  be  equally  gifted  in  all  his 
mental  powers  in  order  to  be  symmetrical.  It  is  not  nec- 
essary that  he  be  able  with  equal  facility  to  play  the  violin 
and  calculate  an  eclipse.  He  may  be  born  with  such  a 
latent  talent  for  music  as  to  render  this  not  only  the  most 
pleasant  but  also  the  most  profitable  occupation  of  his  life, 
and  still  violate  no  essential  law  of  symmetry.  But  if  he 
possesses  the  talent  to  such  a  degree  as  to  become  its  slave, 
while  his  whole  mental  energy  is  absorbed  by  the  one  pas- 
sion, and  he  is  left  to  feel  that  there  is  nothing  else  beside 
music  to  render  life  worth  living,  he  has  passed  the  limits 
which  the  law  of  variety  allows  him  and  has  become 
unsymmetrical.  His  musical  faculty  should  be  restrained, 
while  other  faculties  should  be  called  to  the  front  and  com- 
pelled to  act.  This  is  a  hard  task  and  one  which  is  not 
very  frequently  accomplished,  for  the  very  reason  that  the 
difficulty  itself  is  of  such  a  character  as  to  prevent  the  per- 
son from  seeing  things  in  their  true  light.  When  one 
talks  to  him  about  the  grandeur  of  science  and  the  beau- 
ties of  philosophy,  he  listens  with  impatience  to  such  fool- 
ishness. The  same  is  true  of  all  forms  of  disproportionate 
mental  development.  Nothing  but  a  knowledge  of  the 
mental  economy  will  enable  one,  under  these  circumstances, 
to  see  himself  as  he  is.  When  one  looks  upon  himself 
from  the  standpoint  of  mental  science,  he  eliminates  the 
bias  of  his  own  feelings  resulting  from  his  strongest  ten- 
dencies, and  sees  himself  as  others  see  him.     It  is  very 


SELF  CULTURE.  155 

often  the  case  that  one  can  be  made  to  see  his  own  mental 
defects  in  no  other  way  than  by  a  study  of  mental  science. 

There  is  one  law  of  great  importance  that  should  not  be 
lost  sight  of  either  in  physical  or  mental  culture.  It  is 
the  law  of  periodicity.  It  is  in  recognition  of  this  law 
that  the  professional  gymnast  is  required  to  practice  at 
just  such  an  hour  each  day.  In  some  way  which  we  can., 
not  fully  understand,  the  muscles  instinctively  adapt  them- 
selves to  the  conditions  of  periodical  activity,  so  that  when 
the  appointed  hour  arrives  it  finds  them  in  that  particular 
condition  which  enables  them  to  derive  the  greatest  possi- 
ble amount  of  good  from  a  given  amount  of  practice.  The 
law  operates  precisely  the  same  in  the  mental  economy. 
A  music  teacher  who  has  had  much  experience  will  insist 
that  the  pupil  practice  at  the  same  hour  each  day. 

It  is  not  essential  that  we  should  advise  more  minutely 
with  reference  to  the  education  of  the  mental  powers,  since 
the  needed  advice  may  be  found  in  the  chapter  devoted 
expressly  to  that  subject. 

Moral  culture  involves  no  different  principle  from  that 
of  intellectual  culture,  and  the  cardinal  idea  of  symmetry 
is  as  applicable  to  this  form  as  to  the  two  forms  we  have 
already  considered.  The  same  is  true  of  the  law  of  period- 
icity ;  the  saint  who  prays  at  regular  periods  will  grow  in 
the  instinct, of  prayer  and  faith,  while  he  who  prays  only 
when  he  finds  it  convenient  will  find  that  the  intervals 
grow  constantly  wider.     It  is  necessary,  however,  to  keep 


156  OUR  HOME. 

constantly  in  mind  the  fact  that  the  only  legitimate  condi- 
tion of  him  who  lays  claim  to  moral  culture,  is  that  of  the 
complete  supremacy  of  the  moral  sentiments  over  the  pas- 
sions. All  sin  originates  in  passional  supremacy,  while 
out  of  the  ceaseless  and  often  equal  conflict  between  the 
moral  impulses  and  those  of  the  passions,  grow  all  the 
enigmas  of  human  conduct.  A  person  in  whom  the  latter 
condition  exists  will  remain  alike  to  his  friends  and  foes 
an  unsolved  problem.  He  will  be  both  very  good  and  very 
bad.  When  under  the  dominion  of  the  excited  passions  he 
may  be  a  fiend ;  but  an  hour  later  he  may  be  a  saint.  The 
saddest  condition  for  a  human  being  is  that  in  which  the 
passions  and  moral  sentiments  are  so  equally  balanced  that 
neither  can  gain  a  permanent  victory  over  the  other. 

When  the  moral  sentiments  and  the  passions  are  both 
predominant  at  intervals,  the  moral  sense  becomes  capri- 
cious and  cannot  be  depended  upon.  The  person  becomes 
distrustful  of  his  own  good  resolves,  and  his  character 
loses  all  stability  and  permanence.  Either  condition  is 
bad  enough,  but  on  the  whole  we  regard  the  relation  of 
equality  between  the  passions  and  the  morals  as  the  most 
dangerous  and  destructive. 

So  deplorable  is  this  condition  that  we  would  even  regard 
the  permanent  ascendency  of  the  passions  as  a  lesser  evil. 

Such  a  condition  offers  little  hope  of  recovery,  for  the 
passions  and  moral  sentiments  both  grow  by  their  occa- 
sional victories,  the  one  as  fast  as  the  other,  and  both  are 


SELF  CULTURE.  157 

weakened  by  their  occasional  defeats,  the  one  as  much  as 
the  other.  The  remedy  for  .this  condition  is  to  make  the 
intellect  an  ally  for  the  conscience.  It  should  be  required 
to  devise  means  to  keep  the  passions  out  of  temptation. 
When  the  passions  are  not  aroused  by  the  presence  of 
temptation,  they  are  not  difficult  to  manage.  Ordinarily, 
however,  temptation  is  a  source  of  strength,  uniformly, 
indeed,  if  it  be  resisted.  But  this  condition  is  not  always 
fulfilled,  and  in  the  case  we  are  considering  it  is  almost 
sure  not  to  be  fulfilled,  so  that  the  intellect  should  see  that 
temptation  is  never  allowed  to  be  present,  and  should  seek 
those  places,  occasions,  and  influences  that  appeal  to  the 
morals.  By  persisting  in  this  course  a  long  time  the  moral 
nature  will  gain  a  permanent  victory,  and  then  the  vigilant 
restraint  may  be  removed,  the  fetters  may  be  taken  off 
from  the  passions,  and  they  will  recognize  their  master. 

"  When  gentle  twilight  sits 
On  day's  forsaken  throne, 
'Mid  the  sweet  hush  of  eventide, 
Muse  by  thyself  alone. 
And  at  the  time  of  rest 
Ere  sleep  asserts  its  power, 
Hold  pleasant  converse  with  thyself 
In  meditation's  bower. 

"  Motives  and  deeds  review 
By  memory's  truthful  glass. 
Thy  silent  self  the  only  judge 
And  critic  as  they  pass; 
And  if  thy  wayward  face 
Should  give  thy  conscience  pain, 
Resolve  with  energy  divine 
The  victory  to  gain. 


158  OUR  HOME. 


"  Drink  waters  from  the  fount 
That  in  thy  bosom  springs, 
And  envy  not  the  mingled  draught 
Of  satraps  or  of  kings; 
So  shalt  thou  find  at  last, 
Far  from  the  giddy  brain 
Self-knowledge  and  self-culture  lead 
To  uncomputed  gain." 


SUNDAYS  AT   HOME. 


HETHER  we  regard  the  Sabbath  as  divinely 
appointed  or  as  growing  out  of  the  instincts 
and  necessities  of  man's  moral  and  spiritual 
nature,  the  experience  of  man  has  demon- 
strated that  it  sustains  a  vital  relation  to  our 
highest  welfare. 

Hence  no  work  dealing  with  the  varied 
phases  of  domestic  life  would  be  complete 
without  a  chapter  on  "  Sundays  at  Home." 
With  the  exception  of  the  few  hours  sup- 
posed by  all  civilized  people  to  be  spent  in 
public  worship,  the  day  is  not  in  any  sense 
a  public  day,  but,  on  the  contrary,  it  is  the 
most  private  of  all  days.  It  is  a  day  when 
the  loud  tumult  of  public  affairs  is  hushed, 
and  each  individual  becomes  a  world  in  him- 
self. It  is  a  day  of  personal  meditation.  A 
purely  public  day,  like  the  Fourth  of  July  in 
the  United  States,  bears  little  relation  to  the 
home  life.  It  is  from  the  fact  that  Sunday  is  the  most 
private  of  all  days,  that  we   here  make  it  a  subject   of 


160  OUR  HOME. 

special  consideration;  in  order,  if  possible,  to  determine 
what  purpose  in  the  economy  of  home  shall  be  subserved 
by  this  important  period  called  the  Sabbath.  It  consti- 
tutes one  seventh  of  our  entire  existence,  and  of  no  other 
seventh  do  we  spend  so  large  a  part  at  home.  For  the 
small  part  that  is  devoted  to  public  worship  by  no  means 
equals  that  consumed  on  other  days  by  labor  and  those 
duties  which  partially  or  wholly  isolate  us  from  the  influ- 
ences of  home. 

How,  then,  shall  we  employ  the  Sunday  at  home  ?  How 
shall  we  secure  for  it  a  place  among  the  higher  ministries 
of  home  life  ?  This,  of  course,  will  depend  somewhat  upon 
the  views  we  hold  concerning  the  nature  and  object  of  the 
Sabbath.  It  is  not  our  purpose  to  discuss  the  subject  in 
its  theological  aspect,  but  simply  to  compel  it,  if  possible, 
to  yield  a  contribution  to  the  lessons  of  home  life.  And 
yet  it  is  impossible  to  do  even  this  without  taking  some 
definite  ground  as  to  the  religious  significance  of  the  day. 
It  is  useless  to  contend  that  the  Sabbath  has  no  religious 
significance,  for  to  divest  it  of  such  significance,  would  be, 
in  the  nature  of  things,  to  abolish  it  altogether.  If  it  be 
claimed  that  the  Sabbath  was  born  of  human  instincts,  still 
it  was  of  the  religious  instincts,  and  to  prove  that  it  was 
thus  born  would  be  to  claim  for  it  a  Divine  sanction.  We 
believe  that  the  religious  nature  of  man  and  the  institution 
of  the  Sabbath  are  complementary,  the  one  to  the  other. 
But  whatever  origin  may  be  claimed  for  the  Sabbath,  and 


SUNDAYS  AT  HOME.  161 

whatever  purpose  it  was  primarily  intended  to  serve  in  the 
economy  of  civilization,  we  have  no  reason  to  believe  that 
it  was  intended  for  a  period  of  "  suspended  animation  "  or 
of  physical  and  mental  stagnation.  Jesus  rebuked  the  too 
close  and  Pharisaical  observance  of  the  Sabbath,  and 
taught,  both  by  precept  and  by  example,  that  man  was  not 
made  in  order  that  he  might  observe  the  Sabbath,  but  on 
the  contrary,  that  the  Sabbath  was  made  in  order  that  man 
might  have  the  privilege  of  observing  it.  Man  was  made 
first  and  the  Sabbath  was  adapted  to  him,  although  we  be- 
lieve that  the  natural  law  on  which  the  Sabbath  is  based 
is  coeval  with  the  history  of  creation. 

If,  then,  the  Sabbath  originated  in  the  religious  instincts 
of  man,  it  is  inconsistent  and  foolish  to  contend  that  it 
should  not  be  observed  as  a  day  of  special  religious  exer- 
cise. But  the  question  still  arises,  what  constitutes  special 
religious  exercise?  and  by  what  method  is  the  desired 
result  best  attained  ?  The  now  generally  recognized  law 
that  disagreeable  or  painful  action  always  weakens  instead 
of  strengthening  the  faculty  involved,  is  directly  opposed 
to  the  Puritanic  observance  of  the  Sabbath  ;  for  how  can 
a  child  be  submitted  to  more  intense  mental  torture,  than 
to  be  compelled  to  spend  a  whole  day  where  he  is  not  al- 
lowed to  smile,  where  all  conversation  is  suppressed,  ex- 
cept that  which  is  absolutely  necessary,  and  where  even 
that  is  conducted  with  semi-whispers  in  the  unmistakable 

tone  of  reverence  and  awe.     The  Sabbath  in  too  many 
n 


162  OUR  HOME. 

homes  is  a  day  to  be  dreaded  by  the  children.  The  ob- 
servance of  it  required  is  so  strict  as  to  be  painful,  and 
hence  weakens  instead  of  strengthening  their  moral  and 
religious  nature.  The  effect  of  such  forced  action  is  al- 
most always  far  worse  than  no  action  at  all.  This  law 
obtains  with  reference  to  every  power  of  our  being,  but  its 
action  is  most  obvious  with  reference  to  the  moral  and 
spiritual  faculties.  These  must  act  from  choice  or  they 
cannot  be  strengthened.  Hence  the  question  becomes  a 
most  delicate  one,  "How  shall  the  Sunday  be  spent  at 
home?" 

Perhaps  no  further  advice  to  the  intelligent  parent  is 
required  than  that  he  should  be  guided  in  all  cases  by  this 
great  law,  that  every  action,  in  order  that  it  may  strengthen 
the  part  acting,  must  be  accompanied  with  pleasure,  in- 
stead of  pain. 

In  the  first  place,  let  the  Sunday  at  home  be  divested  of 
all  needless  solemnity  ;  let  it  be  a  day  of  cheerfulness  and 
social  enjoyment,  a  day  of  music  both  instrumental  and 
vocal,  a  day  of  conversation  and  reading.  Let  the  chil- 
dren be  taught  to  think  and  to  meditate  on  the  great  prob- 
lems of  life  and  the  vast  concerns  of  eternity,  not  in  a  sol- 
emn, awe-inspiring  way,  but  in  a  manner  consonant  with 
good  judgment  and  common  sense.  Let  them  be  encour- 
aged to  engage  in  respectful  discussions  among  themselves, 
on  these  questions.  Thus  will  they  early  develop  a  ten- 
dency to  think  and  hold  opinions  of  their  own,  while  yet 


SUNDAYS  AT  HOME.  163 

the  parents'  superior  wisdom  may  detect  and  point  out  fal- 
lacies in  their  reasoning.  There  is  little  danger  of  sophis- 
try and  false  conclusions  in  these  arguments  if  the  parent 
is  watchful,  and  seeks  constantly  to  set  the  young  thinkers 
right,  not  by  an  ipse  dixit,  nor  even  by  "  thus  saith  the 
Scripture,"  but  by  convincing  their  reason  with  superior 
logic.  When  one  begins  to  doubt  any  doctrine,  whether 
intellectual  or  religious,  he  naturally  conceives  a  dislike 
for  any  authority  which  disputes  his  ground,  unless  the 
authority  is  enforced  by  reasons  which  his  own  intellect  is 
compelled  to  acknowledge  as  conclusive.  Superior  logic 
is  the  only  authority  which  a  questioning  mind  naturally 
receives  with  good  grace.  Hence,  if  you  do  not  wish  your 
child  to  hate  the  Bible,  do  not  attempt  to  silence  all  his 
questions  by  the  mere  quotation  of  Scriptural  texts,  but 
first,  calmly  and  kindly  lay  bare  the  fallacy  in  his  argu- 
ment, and  then  show  him,  if  you  choose,  how  your  own 
argument  accords  with  Scripture. 

But  it  may  be  asked,  why  not  teach  the  child  to  trust  ? 
why  cultivate  a  tendency  to  question,  by  harboring  the 
argumentative  disposition  ?  There  is,  it  is  true,  a  period 
in  early  childhood  when  unquestioning  trust  is  natural  and 
proper.  But  let  us  remember  that  when  the  child  reaches 
the  age  of  fourteen  or  fifteen,  he  comes  suddenly  into  pos- 
session of  the  weapon  of  logic,  and  no  matter  what  may 
have  been  the  teachings  and  influences  of  his  early  years, 
he  will,  between  the  ages  of  fourteen  and  twenty,  think, 


1G4  OUR  HOME. 

doubt,  and  question  for  himself.  Every  human  mind, 
however  trustful  it  may  be  through  childhood,  must  pass 
through  its  period  of  doubt  and  mental  conflict,  and  the 
earlier  this  period  is  passed,  the  better  and  the  safer. 
Atheists  are  made  out  of  those  minds  which  receive  only 
the  ipse  dixit  of  bigoted  fathers,  after  the  awakening 
intellect  demands  a  reason. 

When  questions  begin  to  present  themselves  to  such 
minds,  questions  that  insist  upon  an  answer,  dissatisfied 
with  the  merely  dogmatic  answer  of  the  father,  they  nat- 
urally appropriate  the  most  logical  explanation  at  hand, 
which,  of  course,  partakes  of  the  narrowness  of  their  own 
thought-power,  and  thus  they  are  often  led  astray. 

There  are  probably  in  the  world  few  atheists  who 
would  be  such  had  their  young  logic  been  answered  with 
logic  and  not  with  authority.  We  believe  that  a  very 
large  per  cent,  of  the  world's  unbelief  is  due  to  a  wrong 
system  of  Sunday  discipline. 

But  we  would  not  have  the  children  disregard  the 
solemnity  and  sanctity  of  the  Sabbath.  It  is  natural  for 
children  as  well  as  for  older  people  to  have  their  periods  of 
serious  thought.  But  parents  should  bear  in  mind  that 
with  the  child  these  periods  are  not  naturally  quite  so 
serious  nor  so  protracted  as  their  own.  We  believe  the 
day  should  be  a  day  of  rest,  not,  however,  for  the  reason 
usually  assigned,  viz.,  that  man's  physical  nature  re- 
quires it.     For  to  suppose  that  the  natural  duties  of  life 


SUNDAYS  AT  HOME.  1 80 

constitute  a  burden  so  heavy  that  it  cannot  be  borne  with- 
out constantly  putting  it  down,  is  to  suppose  that  God 
made  a  mistake  in  the  adaptation  of  life's  powers  to  its 
duties. 

Man  is  surely  as  well  adapted  to  his  natural  surround- 
ings as  the  ant  or  the  beaver,  and  to  these,  the  burden  of 
life's  labor  is  not  so  great  as  to  require  a  periodic  rest. 

We  believe  that  the  philosophy  of  the  Sabbath  as  a  day 
of  rest  is  to  be  found  in  Nature's  law  of  undivided  inten- 
sity, the  law  by  which  it  is  impossible  for  an  organized 
being  to  act  intensely  at  two  or  more  points  at  the  same 
time.  This  law  holds  with  equal  force  in  the  physical,  in- 
tellectual and  moral  worlds.  The  physician  makes  a  prac- 
tical application  of  its  physical  phase  when  he  irritates 
the  feet  with  drafts  to  cure  the  headache.  The  student 
applies  its  mental  phase  when  he  requires  his  room  to  be 
silent  in  order  that  he  may  put  his  "whole  mind"  to  his 
task.  And  the  saint  applies  its  moral  phase  when  he  avoids 
temptation  and  prays  in  his  closet. 

Now  the  Sabbath  is  the  complement  of  man's  religious 
nature,  and  in  accordance  with  the  law  of  "  periodicity,"  of 
which  we  have  already  spoken  in  our  chapter  on  "  Self 
Culture,"  this  department  of  his  nature  must  act  with 
special  force  at  certain  regular  periods.  In  the  light  of 
these  facts  the  whole  philosophy  of  the  Sabbath  as  a  day 
of  rest  may  be  seen  at  a  glance  by  watching  a  laborer  at 
work.     Suddenly  a  thought  seizes  him  ;  one  which  deeply 


1G6  OUR  HOME. 

interests,  and  vitally  concerns  him.  How  instinctively  he 
drops  his  tool  and  stands  motionless. 

Now  we  have  only  to  regard  the  world  as  one  man  la- 
boring for  his  daily  bread,  but,  who  by  a  law  of  his  spiritual 
nature,  is  called  upon  once  in  seven  days,  to  think  with 
special  intensity  upon  the  great  concerns  of  the  eternal 
and  the  unseen.  The  same  instinct  that  caused  the  me- 
chanic to  drop  his  tool  and  stand  motionless  causes  the 
world  to  do  the  same.  It  is  but  the  instinctive  applica- 
tion of  this  universal  law  of  undivided  intensity  that  closes 
the  furnace  door,  hushes  the  roar  of  the  engine,  and  spreads 
the  mantle  of  silent  thought  over  the  great  city. 

Is  it  then  a  sin  to  labor  on  the  Sabbath?  Yes,  a  twofold 
sin,  a  sin  against  both  our  physical  and  our  moral  nature. 
Just  as  when  one  eats  heartily  when  engaged  in  intense 
mental  labor,  he  sins  against  both  his  mind  and  his  stomach.' 
Physicians  tell  us,  we  can  do  nothing  more  injurious,  for 
the  brain  having  concentrated  nearly  all  the  vital  energy  of 
the  system,  the  stomach  is  in  consequence  left  feeble  and 
unable  to  dispose  of  its  burden  without  a  great  strain.  Ex- 
actly the  same  principle  holds  with  reference  to  laboring 
on  the  Sabbath.  The  absorbing  occupation  of  the  Sabbath 
should  be  the  study  of  ourselves  with  the  one  view  to  sym- 
metrical self  culture.  Sunday  is  the  day  of  all  others  for 
self  culture.  It  is  a  day  in  which  we  should  study  our  re- 
lation to  our  Maker,  and  in  accordance  with  the  impulses 
of  the  moral  nature,  all  our  mental  energies  should  be  ex- 


SUNDA YS  AT  HOME.  167 

pended  in  rounding  out  our  characters,  and  perfecting  our 
whole  nature. 

But  he  who  attempts  this  great  work  on  the  Sabbath, 
and  at  the  same  time  attempts  to  carry  on  the  ordinary  la- 
bors of  life,  is  not  only  thwarting  his  own  efforts  at  self- 
improvement,  but  is  doing  that  which  will  shorten  his  life 
perhaps  a  score  of  years. 

But  he  who  carries  his  ordinary  labors  into  the  Sabbath 
does  not,  of  course,  observe  the  day.  Then  he  commits  a 
still  worse  sin.  He  not  only  sins  against  society,  which, 
however,  is  a  comparatively  minor  sin,  but  he  refuses  to 
obey  a  great  spiritual  law,  which  is  woven  into  the  very 
constitution  of  his  moral  nature. 

So  that,  view  the  subject  as  we  may,  we  cannot  ignore 
the  Sabbat li  without  sinning  against  ourselves,  and  we  can- 
not sin  against  ourselves  without  sinning  against  our  God. 

"  O  day  to  sweet  religious  thought 
So  wisely  set  apart, 
Back  to  the  silent  strength  of  life 
Help  thou  my  wavering  heart. 

"  Nor  let  the  obtrusive  lies  of  sense 
My  meditations  draw 
From  the  composed,  majestic  realm 
Of  everlasting  law. 

"  Break  down  whatever  hindering  shapes 
I  see  or  seem  to  see, 
And  make  my  soul  acquainted  with 
Celestial  company. 

"  Beyond  the  wintry  waste  of  death 
Shine  fields  of  heavenly  light; 
Let  not  this  incident  of  time 
Absorb  me  from  their  sight. 


168  OUR  HO  Ml-. 

M  I  know  these  outward  forms  wherein 
So  much  my  hopes  I  Stay, 

Are  but  the  shadowy  hints  of  that 
Which  cannot  pass  away. 

"That  just  out>ide  the  work-day  path 
By  man's  volition  trod, 
Lie  the  re  >  MS  of 

The  things  ordained  of  God." 


RESOLUTIONS   AND 
INDIVIDUAL   RULES   OF   LIFE. 


SUCCESSFUL  culture  is  never  the  result  of 
unmethodical  effort.  The  best  results  are 
obtained  only  when  due  regard  is  had  to  a 
judicious  and  systematic  use  of  time,  when 
the  mind  subjects  itself  to  self-government 
through  a  code  of  laws  adopted  and  ap- 
proved by  itself.  Mind  in  all  its  operations 
and  volitions  is  under  the  dominion  of  law. 
There  is  no  product  of  creation's  law  that  in  its  operations 
can  transcend  law.  A  being,  then,  develops  best  and  most 
rapidly  when  each  department  of  his  nature  is  subjected  to 
the  rigid  discipline  of  its  own  laws.  In  the  foregoing  chap- 
ter we  have  dwelt  upon  the  general  laws  that  govern  our 
physical,  intellectual,  and  moral  natures;  but  there  are 
laws  of  a  less  general  nature,  which  it  is  equally  important 
that  we  should  observe,  laws  pertaining  to  individuals 
and  growing  out  of  organic  or  temperamental  conditions. 
These  laws  each  individual  must  discover  and  obey  for 
himself;  for  since  they  originate  in  individual  peculiarities 
they  cannot  be  of  general  significance,  and  hence  cannot 


1T0  OUR  HOME. 

be  formulated  into  a  code  by  any  but  the  individual  him- 
self. Such  are  the  laws  pertaining  to  the  particular  time 
and  the  amount  of  sleep  required  by  each  person,  to  the 
kind  and  quantity  of  food  desirable  for  each,  and  to  the 
processes  of  thought  and  mental  activity  that  vary  with 
traits  and  temperaments. 

All  these  laws  should  be  ascertained  by  self-examination 
and  by  remembering  our  own  experiences.  In  this  connec- 
tion it  is  proper  to  consider  the  importance  of  dividing 
each  day  into  periods  for  the  performance  of  special  duties. 
Learn  from  self-observation  what  part  of  the  day  may  be 
with  greatest  advantage  spent  in  reading  and  study.  Not 
alone,  however,  with  reference  to  reading  and  study,  but 
with  reference  to  each  and  every  function  of  life.  But  it 
is  not  enough  merely  to  learn  these  facts.  It  is  far  more 
important,  as  it  is  far  more  difficult,  to  form  and  keep  the 
resolutions  to  which  this  knowledge  should  prompt  us. 

This  subject  naturally  suggests  the  practice  of  keeping  a 
journal.  And,  perhaps,  there  is  no  duty  of  life  (and  we 
consider  this  a  duty  of  all),  which,  in  proportion  to  the 
exertion  it  requires,  is  capable  of  yielding  such  desirable  re- 
sults in  the  direction  of  personal  culture.  Setting  aside  the 
advantages  of  being  able,  at  a  moment's  notice,  to  present 
the  written  volume  of  our  lives  (not  the  generalities  and 
glowing  eulogiums  in  which  biographers  and  literary  execu- 
tors indulge),  such  a  minute  delineation  of  our  daily 
thought!  and    deeds  through   all   our  past   years,  as  .will 


INDIVIDUAL  RULES  OF  LIFE.  171 

enable  us  at  any  moment,  to  tell  what  function  in  our 
life's  programme  a  given  day  has  performed, — setting 
aside  all  this,  there  is  probably  no  one  practice  more  dis- 
ciplinary in  its  permanent  effects,  than  that  of  recording 
each  night  the  thoughts  and  deeds  of  the  vanished  day. 
The  duty,  however,  should  be  conscientiously  performed. 
This  disciplinary  tendency  is  in  the  process  itself  independ- 
ent of  the  record's  value.  It  often  happens  that  the  de- 
mands of  daily  life  present  themselves  with  such  tumultu- 
ous rapidity,  and  in  such  perplexing  confusion,  that  the 
great  reviewer,  Conscience,  does  not  always  have  time  to 
subject  each  act  to  a  sufficiently  scrutinizing  examination. 
And  many  of  them  get  a  favorable  verdict  by  demanding 
a  haste  that  conceals  their  deformities.  But  when,  at  the 
close  of  day — that  hour  which  seems  to  offer  most  leisure 
for  the  solution  of  life's  problems — we  sit,  calmly  reviewing 
our  deeds  in  the  order  of  their  occurrence,  and  in  all  their 
inter-relations,  then  it  often  happens  that  Conscience 
finds  occasion  to  revoke  its  decision,  and  to  pass  a  severer 
verdict.  Again,  the  aid  in  the  cultivation  of  memory 
which  the  practice  offers  is  by  no  means  insignificant,  since 
it  especially  cultivates  that  power  of  memory  in  which 
nearly  all,  particularly  Americans,  are  deficient,  viz.,  the 
power  to  reproduce  impressions  in  the  order  in  which  they 
occurred.  It  is  needless  to  say  that  this  form  of  memory 
is  the  most  useful  of  all.  That  form  of  memory  which 
enables  one  to  reproduce  a  few  disjointed  links  in  a  chain 


ITS  OUR  HOME. 

of  thought,  although  it  may  reproduce  a  great  many  of 
them,  can  seldom  be  of  great  service  to  its  possessor.  The 
recollection  of  past  events  is  valuable  to  us  only  as  it 
enables  us  to  recognize  the  relation  of  the  recollected 
events.  Hence  the  value  of  that  form  of  memory  that  can 
recollect  them  in  their  sequential  order. 

Now  the  reader  will  demand  no  proof  of  the  assertion 
that  there  are  no  means  by  which  this  form  of  memory  can 
be  so  quickly  and  thoroughly  acquired  as  by  the  practice 
of  recalling  each  night  the  experiences  of  the  day  in  their 
chronological  order.  The  talent  for  public  speaking,  so 
highly  prized  by  all  young  men,  but  possessed  by  few,  is 
almost  wholly  conferred  by  this  power  of  consecutive 
memory.  Those  who  possess  it  are  enabled  not  only  to 
reproduce  the  thoughts  gathered  in  the  process  of  prepara- 
tion, but  to  reproduce  them  in  their  order,  one  thought 
suggesting  the  next,  and  thus  enabling  the  speaker  to  dis- 
pense with  notes. 

We  cannot  too  strongly  urge  the  practice  of  keeping  a 
journal.  We  have  dwelt  thus  at  length  upon  the  subject 
on  account  of  the  importance  which  we  believe  it  pos- 
sesses, and  because  it  affords  the  best  possible  assistance  in 
carrying  out  the  chief  injunction  of  this  chapter,  viz., 
that  each  individual  should  govern  himself  by  laws,  max- 
ims, and  resolutions  of  his  own  authorship. 

We  would  recommend,  not  only  the  practice  of  record- 
ing, in  the  evening,  the  thoughts,  deeds,  and  events  of  the 


INDIVIDUAL  RULES  OF  LIFE.  173 

day,  but  also  of  recording,  in  the  morning,  that  which  we 
intend  to  accomplish  during  the  day.  This  practice  offers 
a  threefold  advantage.  First,  it  enables  us  to  govern  our- 
selves through  the  day  by  the  laws  which  we  enact  in  our 
better  moods ;  second,  it  leads  us  to  set  a  high  price  upon 
time,  and  to  cultivate  a  habit  of  punctuality  and  method ; 
third,  when  we  have  written  the  record  at  evening  just 
under  the  promise  of  the  morning,  and  the  divine  con- 
science within  us  utters  in  our  spirit's  ear  the  comments 
that  seem  fittest,  we  may  be  gazing  upon  one  of  the  most 
significant  lessons  of  life.  For  it  is  a  lesson  symbolic  of 
the  close  of  many  a  life ;  a  dark  and  colorless,  evening  in 
sad  contrast  with  (he  brilliant  hues  and  gaudy  beauty  of 
youth's  morning.  The  practice  can  have  but  one  ten- 
dency, and  that  is  to  make  these  two  records  more  closely 
agree. 

The  journal  or  diary  is  the  best  and  most  convenient 
place  in  which  to  record  those  maxims  and  resolutions,  the 
wisdom  and  necessity  of  which  we  have  so  strongly  urged. 
As  fast  as  you  discover  under  what  particular  regulations 
and  circumstances  a  given  function  of  your  life  is  most  ad- 
vantageously performed,  make  these  regulations  and  cir- 
cumstances the  theme  of  a  resolution  or  a  maxim,  and  re- 
cord it  in  your  diary,  to  become  a  law  of  your  life.  In 
this  way  you  will  eliminate  the  evil  and  conserve  the  good 
in  your  experience.  You  will  grow  wiser  and  better,  and 
in  the  end,  it  is  possible  that  your  list  of  resolutions  may 


OUR  HOME. 

lie  a  contribution  to  the  worlds  store  of  wisdom  and 
virtue.  This,  however,  should  not  he  the  object  of  the 
resolutions.  Your  one  purpose  should  be  the  development 
in  your  soul,  of  life's  virtues,  for  it  is  by  these  that  life  is 
measured. 

"  Count  life  1-  will  last 

When  Ufe'a  lame,  foil  <>'er; 

And  these,  when  earthly  joys  arc  pest, 
Shall  cheer  us  on  a  brighter  shore.'' 


1        CORRESPONDENCE. 


HERE   is   probably  no  one   accomplishment 
that  reveals  so  much  of  human  character  as 
that  of  correspondence.    All  are  familiar  with 
the  fact  that  experts  are  able  from  the  hand- 
'    writing  alone  to  give  the  prominent  features 
of  a  person's  character  with  so  much  accu- 
racy that  their  testimony  is  allowed  as  evi- 
dence in  the  courts. 

But  much  as  is  revealed  by  the  manner  in 

which  we  write,  still  more  is  revealed  by 

the  nature  of  that  which  is  written, — not 

only  the  general  merit  of  the  composition, 

but  the  thoughts  and  sentiments  expressed, 

the  delicacy  and  propriety  with  which  they 

are  expressed,  the  neatness  of  the  written 

page,  the  orthography  and    the    grammar. 

Then  there  is  a  certain  air  that  impresses 

us  that  comes  under  none  of  these  heads, 

J  too  subtile  to  be  reduced  to  a  definition, 

y$  more  ethereal  than  the  perfume  of  a  tropic 

morning,  but  which  stamps  the  product  unmistakably  as 

the    work  of  a  noble    soul.     This   indefinable    something 


J 


176  OUR  HOME. 

transforms  all  the  sharp  angles  and  irregular  lines  into 
shapes  that  please,  and  covers  the  ugliness  of  imperfect 
chirography  with  a  secondary  beauty  on  which  we  delight 
to  gaze. 

Scholarship,  culture,  refinement,  and  inborn  nobility  no- 
where betray  themselves  so  conspicuously  as  in  the  act  of 
correspondence.  While  general  culture  of  the  whole  mind 
b  necessary  to  the  acquirement  of  this  accomplishment,  yet 
the  only  specific  means  to  be  employed  is  the  study  of  the 
best  models.  Advantage  should  be  taken  of  the  imitative 
tendency  of  little  children,  and  accordingly  all  the  best  cor- 
respondence of  the  parents  should  be  read  repeatedly  to  the 
children.     They  will  always  be  interested  in  a  letter  from 

Aunt or  Cousin ,  and  if  the  letter  is  a  good  model 

it  should  be  read  and  re-read  in  the  presence  of  the  child  till 
he  begins  to  catch  the  phraseology.  The  best  models  of 
the  father's  business  correspondence  may  be  committed 
to  memory  by  the  children.  These  forms  once  fixed  in 
their  minds  will  leave  their  influence  long  years  after  the 
words  of  the  model  are  forgot  ben. 

The  particular  examples  and  problems  we  solved  in  our 
school  days  are  all  forgotten,  but  they  have  left  something 
in  our  minds  of  which  we  make  use  every  day.  So  in 
regard  to  these  models  in  correspondence.  It  is  not  so 
much  the  mechanical  form  of  the  written  page  to  which 
we  would  call  the  attention  of  the  young  reader,  as  to  that 
intellectual  ideal  to  which  the  study  of  the  models  gives 


W  E  R . 


CORRESPONDENCE.  177 

rise,  and  which  embraces  not  only  the  mechanical  form, 
but  all  the  qualities  that  go  to  make  it  a  finished  product 
of  the  individual  mind. 

We  have  tried  to  select  such  models  as  in  themselves 
convey  valuable  suggestions  and  information  on  the  gen- 
eral theme  of  correspondence. 

The  one  great  error  into  which  most  young  people  Call 
in  the  matter  of  correspondence  is  the  idea  that  to  write  a 
letter  is  to  perform  a  literary  feat. 

When  a  child  writes  his  first  letter  to  his  cousin  or  ab- 
sent friend,  he  usually  makes  a  day's  work  of  it  even  with 
mother's  suggestions,  while  if  that  cousin  or  friend  were  to 
visit  him,  he  would  not  only  find  no  difficulty  in  prattling 
all  day,  but  would  probably  much  prefer  to  dispense  with 
his  mother's  suggestions. 

In  the  following  letter  from  the  Hon.  Wm.  Wirt  to  his 
daughter,  mark  how  charmingly  natural  and  simple  his 
language.  It  seems  almost  impossible  that  such  should 
have  been  written.  It  seems  more  like  a  verbatim  report 
of  a  fireside  conversation. 

Baltimore,  April  18,  1882. 
My  Dear  Child: — 

You  wrote  me  a  dutiful  letter,  equally  honorable  to  your  head 
and  heart,  for  which  I  thank  you,  and  when  I  grow  to  be  a 
light-hearted,  light-headed,  happy,  thoughtless  young  girl,  I 
will  give  you  a  quid  pro  (/no.  As  it  is,  you  must  take  such  a 
letter  as  a  man  of  sense  can  write,  although  it  has  been  re- 
marked, that  the  more  sensible 'the  man,  the  more  dull  his  letter. 


178  OUR  HOME. 

Don't  ask  me  by  whom  remarked,  or  I  shall  refer  you,  with 
Jenkinson,  in  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield,  to  Sanconiathon,  Manetho, 
and  Berosus. 

This  puts  me  in  mind  of  the  card  of  impressions  from  the 
pencil  seals,  which  T  intended  to  pnnlose  last  mail,  for  you  to 
your  mother,  but  forgot.  Lo  !  here  they  are.  These  are  the 
best  I  can  find  in  Baltimore.  I  have  marked  them  according  to 
my  taste  ;  but  exercise  your  own  exclusively,  and  choose  for 
yourself,  if  either  of  them  please  you. 

Shall  I  bring  you  a  Spanish  guitar  of  Giles'  choosing  ?  Can 
you  be  certain  that  you  will  stick  to  it  ?  And  some  music  for 
the  Spanish  guitar  ?     What  say  you  ? 

There  are  three  necklaces  that  tempt  me — a  beautiful  mock 
emerald,  a  still  more  beautiful  mock  ruby  with  pearls,  and  a 
still  most  beautiful  of  real  topaz, — what  say  you  ? 

Will  you  have  either  of  the  scarfs  described  to  your  mother, 
and  which — the  blue  or  the  black  ?  They  are  very  fashionable 
and  beautiful.  Any  of  those  wreaths  and  flowers  ?  Consult 
your  dear  mother ;  always  consult  her,  always  respect  her. 
This  is  the  only  way  to  make  yourself  respectable  and  lovely. 
God  bless  you,  and  make  you  happy. 

Your  affectionate  father, 

WILLIAM  WIRT. 

This  quality  of  simplicity  is  the  chief  virtue  of  the  fam- 
ily letter  and  the  letter  of  friendship.  In  these  it  is  neces- 
sary to  observe  but  one  principal  rule,  viz.,  write  just  as 
you  would  talk  if  the  person  to  whom  you  write  were  by 
your  side.  In  a  letter  to  mother  or  father,  is  no  place  to 
display  your  literary  skill  by  the  free  use  of  technical 
words  and  high-sounding  phrases.     When  the  letters  of 


CORRESPONDENCE.  179 

brothers  and  sisters  become  essays,  be  assured  that  their 
heart  relations  are  not  what  they  should  be.  The  vocabu- 
laries of  affection  are  not  compiled  from  the  glossaries  of 
science  and  philosophy. 

When  you  write  to  a  friend  put  yourself  into  the  letter. 
He  does  not  wish  you  to  instruct  him.  It  isn't  what  you 
say,  but  yourself  that  he  desires.  Except  that  of  business, 
the  one  object  of  all  correspondence  is  to  serve  as  a  substi- 
tute for  that  interblending  of  personalities  which  is  the  ex- 
cuse and  philosophy  of  society.  It  is  a  miserable  substitute 
at  best,  and  fulfills  its  office  badly  enough  even  when  we 
put  all  of  ourselves  into  it  that  we  can.  It  is  not  egotism 
to  talk  about  yourself  in  a  letter  of  friendship,  for  if  your 
friend  is  not  interested  in  you,  he  is  not  your  friend.   - 

The  following  is  from  a  young  man  in  college  to  his 
mother.  It  does  not  contain  a  single  allusion  to  Calculus, 
nor  are  there  any  Latin  quotations  in  it. 

College,  Tuesday  evening. 

My  Dear  Mother: — 

Though  I  am  now  sitting  with  my  back  toward  you,  yet  I 
love  you  none  the  less ;  and  what  is  quite  as  strange,  I  can  see 
you  just  as  plainly  as  if  I  stood  peeping  in  upon  you.  I  can 
see  you  all  just  as  you  sit  around  the  table.  Tell  me  if  I  do  not 
see  you  ? 

There  is  mother  on  the  right  of  the  table  with  her  knitting, 
and  a  book  open  before  her  ;  and  anon  she  glances  her  eye  from 
the  work  on  the  paper  to  that  on  her  needles  ;  now  counts  the 
stitches,  and  then  puts  her  eye  on  the  book  and  then  starts  off 


180  OUR  HOME. 

on  another  round.  There  is  Mary,  looking  wise  and  sewing  with 
all  her  might  ;  now  and  then  stopping  to  give  Sarah  and  Louise 
a  lift  in  their  lessons — trying  to  initiate  them  in  the  mysteries 
of  geography.  She  is  on  the  left  side  of  the  table.  There,  in 
the  background,  is  silent  Joseph,  with  his  slate,  now  making  a 
mark,  and  then  biting  his  lip,  or  scratching  his  head  to  see  if 
the  algebraic  expression  may  not  have  hidden  in  either  of  those 
places.  George  is  in  the  kitchen  tinkering  his  skates,  or  con- 
triving a  trap  for  that  old  offender,  the  rat,  whose  cunning  has 
so  long  brought  mortification  upon  all  his  boastings.  I  can  now 
hear  his  hammer  and  his  whistle — that  peculiar  sucking  sort  of 
whistle  which  indicates  a  puzzled  state  of  brain.  Little  Wil- 
liam and  Henry  are  in  bed,  and  if  you  will  step  to  the  bedroom 
door  you  will  barely  hear  them  breathe.  And  now  mother  has 
stopped  and  is  absent  and  thoughtful,  and  my  heart  tells  me  she 
is  thinking  of  her  only  absent  child. 

You  have  been  even  kinder  than  I  expected  or  you  promised. 
I  did  not  expect  to  hear  from  you  till  to-morrow,  at  earliest, 
but  as  I  was  walking  to-day,  one  of  my  classmates  cried,  "  A 
bundle  for  you  at  the  stage  office  !  "  I  was  soon  in  my  room 
with  it.  Out  came  my  knife,  and,  forgetting  all  your  good  ad- 
vice about  "  strings  and  fragments,"  the  bundle  soon  opened 
its  very  heart  to  me  ;  and  it  proved  a  warm  heart,  too,  for  there 
were  the  stockings— they  are  on  my  feet  now,  that  is,  one  pair 
of  them, — and  there  were  the  flannels,  and  the  bosoms,  and  the 
gloves,  and  the  pin-cushion  from  Louise,  and  the  needle-book 
from  Sarah,  and  the  paper  from  Mary,  and  the  letters  and  love 
from  all  of  you.  Thanks  to  you  all  for  the  bundle,  letters  and 
love.  One  corner  of  my  eye  is  now  moistened  while  I  say, 
"  Thanks  to  ye  all,  gude  folks."  I  must  not  forget  to  mention 
the  apples — "  the  six  apples,  one  from  each," — and  the  beautiful 
little  loaf  of  cake.  The  apples  I  have  smelled  of,  and  the  cake 
nibbled  a  little,  and  pronounced  it  to  be  in  the  finest  taste. 


CORRESPONDENCE.  181 

Now  a  word  about  your  letters.  I  cannot  say  much,  for  I 
have  only  read  mother's  three  times  and  Mary's  twice.  I  am 
glad  the  spectacles  fitted  mother's  eyes  so  well.  You  wonder 
how  I  hit  it.  Why,  have  I  not  been  told  from  babyhood  that  I 
have  my  mother's  eyes  ?  Now,  if  I  have  mother's  eyes,  what  is 
plainer  than  that  I  can  pick  out  glasses  that  will  suit  them  ? 
I  am  glad,  too,  that  the  new  book  is  a  favorite. 

I  suppose  the  pond  is  all  frozen  over,  and  the  skating 
good.  I  know  it  is  foolish  ;  but  if  mother  and  Mary  had 
skated  as  many  "  moony  "  nights  as  I  have,  they  would  sigh, 
not  at  the  thought,  but  at  the  fact  that  my  skating  days  are 
over. 

I  am  warm,  well  and  comfortable.  We  all  study,  and  dull 
fellows,  like  myself,  have  to  confess  that  they  study  hard.  We 
have  no  genius  to  help  us.  My  chum  is  a  good  fellow.  He 
now  sits  in  yonder  corner,  his  feet  poised  upon  the  stove  in 
such  a  way  that  the  dullness  seems  to  have  all  run  out  of  his 
heels  into  his  head,  for  he  is  fast  asleep. 

I  have  got  it  framed,  and  there  it  hangs — the  picture  of  my 
father!  I  never  look  up  without  seeing  it,  and  I  never  see  it 
without  thinking  that  my  mother  is  a  widow  and  that  I  am  her 
eldest  son.  What  more  I  think  I  will  not  be  fool  enough  to 
say — you  will  imagine  better  than  I  can  say  it. 

I  need  not  say  write,  for  I  know  that  you  will.  Love  to  you 
all,  and  much  too.  Your  affectionate  son, 

HERBERT. 

LORD   CHESTERFIELD   TO   HIS    SON. 

Dear  Boy: — 

Your  letters,  except  when  upon  a  given  subject,  are  exceed- 
ingly laconic,  and  neither  answer  my  desires  nor  the  purpose  of 
letters;  which  should  be  familiar  conversations  between  absent 
friends.     As  I  desire  to  live  with  you  upon  the  footing  of  an 


182  OUR  HOME. 

intimate  friend,  and  not  of  a  parent,  I  could  wish  that  your  let- 
ters  gave  me  more  particular  account  of  yourself,  and  of  your 
lesser  transactions.  When  you  write  to  me,  suppose  yourself 
conversing  freely  with  me,  by  the  fireside.  In  that  case  you 
would  naturally  mention  the  incidents  of  the  day,  as  where  you 
had  been,  whom  you  had  seen,  what  you  thought  of  them,  etc. 
Do  this  in  your  letters :  acquaint  me  sometimes  with  your  stud- 
ies, sometimes  with  your  diversions;  tell  me  of  any  new  persons 
and  characters  that  you  meet  with  in  company,  and  add  your 
own  observations  upon  them;  in  short,  let  me  see  more  of  you 
in  your  letters. 

How  do  you  go  on  with  Lord  Multeney;  and  how  does  he  go 
on  at  Leipzig  ?  Has  he  learning,  has  he  parts,  has  he  applica- 
tion ?  Is  he  good  or  ill-natured  ?  In  short,  what  is  he  ?  At 
least,  what  do  you  think  of  him  ?  You  may  tell  me  without 
reserve,  for  I  promise  secrecy. 

You  are  now  of  an  age  that  I  am  desirous  of  beginning  a  con- 
fidential correspondence  with  you,  and,  as  I  shall,  on  my  part, 
write  you  very  freely  my  opinion  upon  men  and  things,  which  I 
should  often  be  very  unwilling  that  anybody  but  you  or  Mr. 
Harts  should  see;  so,  on  your  part,  if  you  write  me  without  re- 
serve you  may  depend  upon  my  inviolable  secrecy.  If  you  have 
ever  looked  into  the  letters  of  Madame  De  Sevigne  to  her  daugh- 
ter, Madame  De  Grignan,  you  must  have  observed  the  ease,  free- 
dom, and  friendship  of  that  correspondence;  and  yet  I  hope,  and 
believe,  that  they  did  not  love  one  another  better  than  we  do. 
Tell  me  what  books  you  are  now  reading,  either  by  way  of 
study  or  amusement;  how  you  pass  your  evenings  when  at 
home,  and  where  you  pass  them  when  abroad. 

The  foregoing  letters  in  themselves  contain  a  whole  vol- 
ume on  the  subject  of  correspondence.     They  leave  very 


CORRESPONDENCE.  183 

little  to  be  said  as  to  what  a  family  letter  should  be.  We 
will,  however,  add  one  more,  a  genuine  love-letter  in  dis- 
guise written  by  Doctor  Franklin.  There  is  nothing  in  the 
nature  of  a  love-letter,  however,  that  renders  necessary  any 
different  suggestions  from  those  we  have  already  given 
under  letters  of  friendship.  We  have  said  there  that  it  is 
yourself,  more  that  what  you  say,  that  your  friend  desires, 
and  in  the  case  of  love-letters  the  same  is  especially  true, 
and  perhaps  in  a  more  literal  sense.  Some  of  our  senti- 
mental readers  may  perhaps  be  a  little  disappointed  after 
reading  the  following  letter,  and  may  possibly  blame  us, 
and  accuse  us  of  malicious  intent  to  dash  their  expecta- 
tions. But  if  the  letter  does  not  fall  under  their  definition 
of  a  love-letter,  the  fault  is  doubtless  one  of  age,  and  not 
of  natural  judgment. 

DR.  FRANKLIN   TO   HIS   WIFE. 

My  Dear  Child: — 

I  wrote  you,  a  few  days  since,  by  a  special  messenger,  and 
inclosed  letters  for  all  our  wives  and  sweethearts,  expecting  to 
hear  from  you  by  his  return,  and  to  have  the  northern  news- 
papers and  English  letters  per  the  packet;  but  he  is  just  now 
returned  without  a  scrap  for  poor  us;  so  I  had  a  good  mind  not 
to  write  to  you  by  this  opportunity;  but  I  can  never  be  ill- 
natured  enough,  even  when  there  is  the  most  occasion.  The 
messenger  says  he  left  the  letters  at  your  house,  and  saw  you 
afterwards  at  Mr.  Duche's,  and  told  you  when  he  would  go,  and 
that  he  lodged  at  Honey's,  next  door  to  you,  and  yet  you  did 
not  write;  so  let   Goody  Smith  give  one  more  just  judgment, 


184  OUR  HOME. 

and  say  what  should  be  done  to  you.  I  think  I  won't  tell  you 
that  we  are  all  well,  nor  that  we  expect  to  return  about  the 
middle  of  the  week,  nor  will  I  send  you  a  word  of  news — that 's 
poz. 

My  duty  to  mother,  love  to  children,  and  to  Miss  Betsey,  and 
Gracey,  etc.,  etc.     I  am  your  losing  husband, 

B.  FRANKLIN. 
P.  S.     I  have  scratched  out  the  loving  words,  being  writ  in 
haste  by  mistake,  when  I  forgot  I  was  angry. 

There  is  another  class  of  correspondence  which  requires 
the  observance  of  a  very  different  class  of  rules  from  those 
already  given.  We  refer  to  business  correspondence.  In 
writing  a  business  letter  we  should  bear  in  mind  that  the 
person  addressed  cares  only  for  what  we  have  to  say,  and 
not  for  ourselves ;  being  in  this  respect  exactly  the  reverse 
of  a  family  letter  or  a  letter  of  friendship.  This  is  why 
the  chief  virtue  of  a  business  letter  is  brevity.  The  per- 
son who  is  to  read  it  desires  to  learn  what  you  have  to  say 
about  your  business  as  quickly  as  possible,  in  order  that  if 
it  be  related  in  any  way  with  his  own,  he  may  discharge 
the  obligation  arising  from  that  relation,  and  lose  no  time. 
The  Anglo  Saxon  bisig  is  the  word  from  which  are  derived 
both  business  and  busy,  so  that  the  business  man  is  sup- 
posed to  be  a  busy  man ;  hence  he  has  no  time  to  weigh 
political  arguments,  nor  to  consider  your  peculiar  views  on 
the  "Trinity." 

It  is  true  that  business  relations  may  exist  between 
friends,  and  they  may  feel  like  expressing  this  in  their 


CORRESPONDENCE.  185 

business  letters,  but  if  they  do  so,  the  letter,  to  that  extent 
departs  from  the  nature  of  a  business  letter  and  becomes 
one  of  friendship.  In  this  case,  it  is  proper,  of  course,  that 
the  letter  should  be  a  mixed  one,  for  wherever  friend- 
ship exists  it  is  the  prerogative  of  the  parties  concerned 
alone,  to  say  when  and  under  what  circumstances  that 
friendship  shall  be  expressed. 

In  letters  of  this  kind,  it  is,  as  a  rule,  preferable  to  de- 
vote the  first  part  of  the  letter  to  the  business,  and  the 
latter  j>art  to  the  interests  of  friendship ;  but  of  course 
circumstances  and  the  relative  weight  of  the  two  interests 
must  determine  this  matter  in  the  mind  of  the  writer. 

The  requirements  of  a  business  letter  are  well  met  in  the 
following  model : — 

San  Francisco,  Cal.,  Dec.  29,  1882. 

Editors  Springfield  Republican: 

Gentlemen: — Enclosed  find  nine  dollars  ($9.00),  for  which 
please  send  me,  the  coming  year,  your  widely  known  and  valu- 
able publication,  The  Springfield  Republican  (daily  edition), 
and  oblige,  Yours  respectfully, 

P.  O.  box  1937.  Clara  M.  Sheldon. 

It  very  frequently  happens  that  the  members  of  the  fam- 
ily are  called  upon  to  write,  or  to  reply  to  what  are  called 
letters  of  invitation. 

The  following  models  will  show  the  form  which  custom 
has  sanctioned :— 


186  OUR  HOME. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cogswell  request  the  favor  of  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Gile's  company  at  dinner  on  Thursday,  January  21,  at  5  o'clock. 

THE   INVITATION   ACCEPTED. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gile,  with  much  pleasure,  accept  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Cogswell's  kind  invitation  for  the  21st  of  January. 

THE  INVITATION   DECLINED. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gile  regret  that  the  condition  of  Mrs.  Gile's 
health  will  not  permit  them  to  accept  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cogswell's 
invitation  to  dinner  for  January  21st. 

Of  course  the  phraseology  need  not  conform  exactly  to 
that  of  the  above  models.  The  only  uniform  characteris- 
tics are  a  business-like  brevity,  admitting  nothing  foreign 
to  the  subject,  and  that  they  be  written  in  the  third  person. 

Notice  that  the  invitation  does  not  read  "we  request 
your  company,  etc."  It  may  be  true,  however,  that  com- 
mon sense  can  assign  no  valid  reason  why  the  third  person 
should  be  used.  But  since  the  affectation  of  fashionable 
society  has  established  the  custom,  it  is  well  for  us  to  con- 
form to  the  same,  especially  since  conformity  or  non-con- 
formity is  not  a  question  of  conscience. 

It  seems  proper  in  this  connection  to  give  a  few  of  those 
forms  pertaining  to  the  various  kinds  of  business  and  com- 
mercial transactions  which  necessarily  constitute  no  insig- 
nificant element  in  the  education,  not  only  of  the  business 
man,  but  of  all  who  successfully  deal  with  their  fellow  men. 

And  since  the  home  is  the  school  in  which  children  are 


CORRESPONDENCE.  187 

supposed  to  receive  in  a  large  degree  their  education  in 
all  that  pertains  to  life  and  its  relations,  a  work  de- 
voted to  the  home  life  would  hardly  seem  complete  with- 
out, at  least,  a  brief  consideration  of  the  formulas  of 
business. 

The  following  forms  embrace  all  of  importance  that  the 
business  man,  whether  farmer,  mechanic  or  merchant,  un- 
der ordinary  circumstances  will  be  called  upon  to  use: — 

PROMISSORY   NOTE   ON   DEMAND   WITH   INTEREST. 

Springfield,  Mass.,  Feb.  1,  1883. 
$225.50. 

On  demand,  I  promise  to  pay  H.  J.  Bennett,  or  order,  two 
hundred  and  twenty-five  <£fo  dollars,  value  received. 

O.  T.  THORNTON. 

PROMISSORY   NOTE   WITHOUT  INTEREST. 

Barnstead,  N.  H.,  Nov.  8,  1883. 
$19.80. 

Four  months  after  date,  I  promise  to  pay  Frank  C.  Cole,  or 
order,  nineteen  -j^fo  dollars  value  received. 

JOSEPH  A.  MARSTON. 

PROMISSORY  NOTE   NEGOTIABLE. 

Lewiston,  Me.,  March  3,  1883. 
$420.00. 

Sixty  days  after  date,  for  value  received,  I  promise  to  pay 
Everett  Remick,  or  order,  four  hundred  and  twenty  dollars  with 
interest  from  date. 

H.  W.  COGSWELL. 


188  OUR  HOME. 

PROMISSORY   NOTE   NOT   NEGOTIABLE. 

Boston,  Mass.,  Jan.  5,  1883. 
$790.00. 

For  value  received,  I  promise  to  pay  Toorin  H.  Harvey,  on 
demand,  seven  hundred  and  ninety  dollars. 

WILLIAM  J.  MERRILL. 

Notice  in  the  above  the  omission  of  the  phrase  "or 
order." 

JOINT    NOTE. 

Chicopee,  Mass.,  Aug.  6,  1882. 
$75.00. 

Thirty  days  after  date,  we  promise  to  pay  John  Shaw,  or  order, 
seventy-five  dollars,  value  received. 

TRUE  L.  PERKINS, 
F.  H.  SARGENT. 

JOINT  AND   SEVERAL  NOTE. 

Athol,  Mass.,  Nov.  22,  1882. 
$300.00. 

Value  received,  on  demand  we,  either  or  both,  promise  to  pay 
Charles  L.  Sheldon,  or  order,  three  hundred  dollars  with  interest. 

O.  T.  MAXFIELD, 
TRUE  B.  JOHNSON. 

The  above  note  might,  of  course,  have  any  of  the  charac- 
teristics of  the  others.  That  is,  it  might  be  with  or  with- 
out interest,  on  demand  or  after  a  stated  period,  negotiable 
or  not  negotiable. 

There  is  a  modification  of  the  joint  and  several  note, 
called  principal  and  surety  note,  like  the  following : — 


CORRESPONDENCE.  189 

Chichester,  N.  H.,  July  9,  1882. 
$320.00. 

Ninety  days  after  date,  for  value  received,  I  promise  to  pay 
Charles  J.  Carpenter,  or  order,  three  hundred  and  twenty  dol- 
lars, with  interest  from  date. 

F.  CABIN  LANE,  Principal 
D.  K.  FOSTER,  Surety. 

The  purpose  of  this  note  is  more  frequently  met  by  the 
endorsement  of  the  surety.  That  is,  the  principal  signs 
his  name  in  the  usual  manner,  and  the  surety  endorses  the 
note  by  writing  his  name  upon  the  back  of  it.  In  this 
case  he  does  not  sign  the  note  with  the  principal.  The 
endorser  must  be  notified  when  the  note  becomes  due, 
otherwise  he  cannot  be  held  responsible  for  its  payment. 

CHATTEL  NOTE. 

Bangor,  Me.,  Jan.  10, 1883. 
$900.00. 

For  value  received,  I  promise  to  pay  F.  E.  Perhan  &  Co., 
or  order,  nine  hundred  dollars  in  ship  masts,  to  be  delivered  at 
Portland  during  the  month  of  March,  1883. 

JOSEPH  BLY. 

DRAFT — TIME   FROM   SIGHT. 

Wells,  Me.,  Aug.  2,  1882. 
$400.00. 

At  ten  days  sight,  pay  to  Joshua  Hatch,  or  order,  four  hun- 
dred dollars,  value  received,  and  charge  to  account  of 

J.  G.  BLAISDELL. 
To  D.  D.  Belcher, 

Wells,  Me. 


190  OUR  HOME. 

DRAFT — AT   SIGHT. 

Holyoke,  Mass.,  June  2,  1882. 
$140.00. 

At  sight,  pay  to  Eben  Clark,  or  order,  one  hundred  and  forty 
dollars,  value  received,  and  charge  to  account  of 

H.  O.  GREENLEAF. 
To  W.  C.  King  &  Co., 

Springfield,  Mass. 

DUE   BILL — CASH. 

Augusta,  Me.,  May  4,  1882. 
$25.00. 

Due  Frank  H.  Sanborn,  on  demand,  twenty-five  dollars  with 
interest  from  date. 

J.  W.  HODGDON. 

DUE  BILL — MERCHANDISE. 

Bowdoin,  Me.,  April  30,  1882. 
$60.00. 

Due  H.  H.  Tucker,  or  order,  sixty  dollars,  payable  in  clover 
seed  at  the  market  price  on  the  first  day  of  July,  1882. 

W.  H.  WALKER. 

BANK  CHECK. 

Springfield,  Mass.,  Jan.  3,  1883. 
$700.40. 

CITY  NATIONAL  BANK. 

Pay  to  the  order  of  J.  W.  Holton,  seven  hundred  fifo  dollars. 

No. 

W.  C.  KING  &  Co. 


CORRESPONDENCE.  191 

"RTCfJFJPT    TN    FTTI/L    OF    AT  J,    DEMANDS. 

Springfield,  Mass.,  Feb.  1,  1883. 
$48.60. 

Received  of  W.  C.  King  &  Co.,  forty-eight  ^  dollars  in  full 
of  all  demands  to  this  date. 

W.  H.  HOLTON. 

Perhaps  there  is  no  one  business  form  which  the  common 
people  are  so  often  called  upon  to  use,  nor  one  in  which 
there  are  so  many  ludicrous  errors  committed  as  the  simple 
form  pertaining  to  indebtedness  for  ordinary  services.  How 
few  matrons  are  able  to  present  in  proper  form,  a  simple 
board  bill.  The  following  is  the  proper  form  for  a  bill  of  in- 
debtedness for  rent : — 

Alton,  N.  H.,  July  9, 1882. 
Mrs.  Mary  N.  P.  Mathews, 

To  Mrs.  Almira  Sargent,  Dr. 
To  four  months  rent  ending  July  11, 1882,  @  $11.00,        $44.00. 

Received  payment, 

MRS.  ALMIRA  SARGENT. 

The  above  form  is  applicable  to  all  kinds  of  indebted- 
ness for  services  rendered.  In  case  some  article  or  com- 
modity represented  the  service,  the  name  of  that  article  or 
commodity  is  put  in  the  place  of  that  of  the  service,  and 
the  bill  otherwise  may  be  the  same. 

There  are,  it  is  true,  many  other  forms  pertaining  to 
business,  as  deeds,  mortgages,  bonds,  wills,  etc.,  etc.,  but 
the  occasions  which  require  a  knowledge  of  these  are  so 


192  OUR  HOME. 

comparatively  rare  that  we  have  not  thought  it  expedient 
to  give  them.  We  have  given  all  that  are  really  essential 
to  the  business  man,  and  even  in  those  works  devoted  ex- 
pressly to  business  forms,  those  we  have  given  will  be 
found  to  be  the  ones  most  minutely  dwelt  upon. 

But  whatever  of  importance  may  be  attached  to  the 
mere  mechanical  form  of  any  document,  the  habit  of  ex- 
pressing our  thoughts  in  writing,  with  naturalness  and 
grace,  whether  in  correspondence,  in  our  private  journal,  or 
in  the  formulas  of  business,  is  of  far  more  importance. 
This  most  desirable  of  all  accomplishments  comes  only  as 
the  reward  for  patient  and  tireless  practice. 

"  To  think  rightly  is  of  knowledge;  to  speak  fluently  is  of  nature: 
To  read  with  profit  is  with  care ;  but  to  write  aptly  is  of  practice. 
No  talent  among  men  hath  more  scholars  and  fewer  masters. 

****#**»**♦*♦# 
And  shouldst  thou  ask  my  judgment  of  that  which  hath  most  profit  in  the  world, 
For  answer  take  thou  this ;  the  prudent  penning  of  a  letter. 

M  Thou  hast  not  lost  an  hour  whereof  there  is  a  record, 

A  written  thought  at  midnight  shall  redeem  the  livelong  day. 
Idea  is  a  shadow  that  departeth,  speech  is  fleeting  as  the  wind, 
Reading  is  an  unremembered  pastime;  but  a  writing  is  eternal." 


MANNERS   AT    HOME. 


JANNERS  constitute  the  natural  language  in 
which  the  biography  of  every  man  is  written. 
They  are  the  necessary  and  unconscious  ex- 
pression of  our  lives  and  characters. 

Politeness  in  its  essence  is  always  the  same. 
The  mere  rules  of  etiquette  may  vary  with 
time  and  place,  but  these  are  only  different 
modes  of  expressing  the  principle  of  polite- 
ness within  us. 

Politeness  does  not  consist  in  any  system 
of  rules,  nor  in  arbitrary  forms,  but  it  has  a 
real  existence  in  the  instincts  of  men  and  wo- 
men. The  ever  changing  conditions  and  cir- 
cumstances of.  social  life  may  necessitate  modifications  in 
the  manners  and  customs  of  the  people,  and  these  modi- 
fications may  and  do  extend  to  the  domestic  circle.  Yet 
the  principle  of  our  nature  in  which  the  manners,  customs, 
and  rules  of  etiquette  all  had  their  origin,  is  permanent 
and  unchangeable.  All  the  various  rules  of  etiquette  for 
the  government  of  society  are  but  notes  and  commentaries 
on  the  one  great  rule,  "Love  thy  neighbor  as  thyself." 

13 


194  OUR  HOME. 

It  has  truthfully  been  said:  uIn  politeness,  as  in  every- 
thing else  connected  with  the  formation  of  character,  we 
are  too  apt  to  begin  on  the  outside,  instead  of  the  inside. 
Instead  of  beginning  with  the  heart  and  trusting  to  that 
to  form  the  manners,  many  begin  with  the  manners  and 
leave  the  heart  to  chance  and  influences.  The  golden  rule 
contains  the  very  life  and  soul  of  politeness:  'Do  unto 
others  as  ye  would  that  they  should  do  unto  you.'  Unless 
children  and  youth  are  taught,  by  precept  and  example,  to 
abhor  what  is  selfish,  and  prefer  another's  pleasure  and 
comfort  to  their  own,  their  politeness  will  be  entirely  arti- 
ficial, and  used  only  when  interest  and  policy  dictate. 
True  politeness  is  perfect  freedom  and  ease — treating  oth- 
ers just  as  you  love  to  be  treated.  Nature  is  always  grace- 
ful ;  fashion,  with  all  her  art,  can  never  produce  anything 
half  so  pleasing.  The  very  perfection  of  elegance  is  to  imi- 
tate nature ;  how  much  better  to  have  the  reality  than  the 
imitation.  Anxiety  about  the  opinions  of  others  fetters 
the  freedom  of  nature  and  tends  to  awkwardness ;  all  would 
appear  well  if  they  never  tried  to  assume  what  they  do  not 

possess." 

Says  the  author  of  "  The  Illustrated  Manners  Book," 
"  Every  denial  of  or  interference  with  the  personal  free- 
dom or  absolute  rights  of  another  is  a  violation  of  good 
manners.  The  basis  of  all  true  politeness  and  social  en- 
joyment is  the  mutual  tolerance  of  personal  rights." 

La  Bruyere  says,  "  Politeness  seems  to  be  a  certain  care, 


MANNERS  AT  HOME.  195 

by  the  manner  of  our  words  and  actions,  to  make  others 
pleased  with  us  and  themselves." 

Madame  Celnart  says,  "  The  grand  secret  of  never  failing 
propriety  of  deportment  is  to  have  an  intention  of  always 
doing  right." 

There  are  some  persons  who  possess  the  instinct  of 
courtesy  in  so  high  a  degree  that  they  seem  to  require  no 
instruction  or  practice  in  order  to  be  perfectly  polite,  easy, 
and  graceful.  But  most  people  require  instruction  and 
rules  as  to  the  best  and  most  appropriate  manner  of  ex- 
pressing that  which  they  may  feel.  We  sometimes  find 
young  children  with  such  an  aptitude  for  speech  and  such 
a  command  of  language  that  their  grammar  is  absolutely 
faultless.  They  seem  to  have  an  instinctive  knowledge  of 
the  rules  of  grammar ;  yet  most  children  without  grammat- 
ical instruction  are  prone  to  errors. 

Rules  of  etiquette  are  essential,  then,  but  far  less  so 
than  that  cultivation  of  heart  and  character,  to  which  all 
just  rules  of  etiquette  must  trace  their  origin. 

Personal  habits  claim  the  first  place  in  our  considera- 
tion of  home  manners ;  and  foremost  among  these  we 
would  place  cleanliness.  This  virtue  has  been  said  to  be 
akin  to  godliness,  and  surely  there  is  no  quality  in  a 
human  being  that  more  forcibly  suggests  ungodliness  than 
uncleanliness.  An  unclean  person  is  an  object  of  disgust 
to  all  whom  he  meets.  Foulness  of  character  and  moral 
pollution  will  not  isolate  one  from  the  sympathy  of  his  fel- 


196  OUR  HOME. 

low  men  more  effectually  than  physical  uncleanliness. 
We  cannot  long  retain  a  love  for  our  best  and  dearest 
friend  if  he  is  unclean  and  has  a  foul  breath.  We  may  not 
despise  him,  but  our  love  will  necessarily  lose  a  little  of  its 
ardor,  or  at  best  will  change  to  pity.  But  the  disgust  of 
our  friends  is  not  by  any  means  the  worst  result  of  un- 
cleanliness. It  is  most  destructive  to  health.  It  is  like 
sand  and  mud  thrown  into  the  wheels  and  gearing  of  a 
delicate  machine.  Few  persons  of  unclean  habits  have 
died  of  old  age.  People  may  sometimes  in  their  old  age 
come  to  be  uncleanly  in  consequence  of  their  infirmity, 
but  during  their  younger  days  they  must  have  been  mod- 
erately clean. 

We  would  not  advise  one  to  adopt  radical  views  on  this 
subject  and  take  a  daily  bath  through  life,  although  we 
doubt  if  such  a  course  would  injure  most  people,  yet  it 
would  probably  be  unnecessary,  and  would  be  a  needless 
waste  of  time.  A  full  bath  once  or  twice  a  week  is,  per- 
haps, all  that  is  necessary  to  escape  the  charge  of  being 
ungodly  in  consequence  of  filth. 

Most  people  do  not  seem  to  consider  the  laws  of  clean- 
liness as  applicable  to  the  head  and  hair.  Even  those  who 
are  clean  in  other  respects  are  very  apt  to  neglect  the  hair. 
Many  ladies  who  have  long  and  thick  hair  are,  perhaps, 
unaware  how  quickly  it  becomes  filthy  and  emits  a  disa- 
greeable odor,  especially  if  it  be  dressed  while  it  is  wet. 
However  cleanly  the  person  may  be  in  other  respects,  the 


MANNERS  AT  HOME.  197 

hair  will  necessarily  collect  much  dust  and  so  become  un- 
clean. No  father,  mother,  or  child  of  good  breeding  will 
allow  the  teeth  or  nails  to  become  unclean.  A  clean  mind 
cannot  dwell  in  an  unclean  body. 

Perhaps  in  proportion  to  the  population  there  are  at  the 
present  time  fewer  in  the  world  who  are  addicted  to  the 
disgusting  and  health-destroying  habit  of  smoking  and 
chewing  tobacco  than  in  the  days  of  our  grandfathers,  yet 
the  number  even  now  is  appalling.  Although  it  is  a  vice 
too  large  to  be  confined  within  any  circle  or  sphere  of  life, 
yet  it  may,  perhaps,  appropriately  be  considered  under  the 
head  of  home  manners. 

There  are  few,  if  any,  who  will  not  frankly  acknowledge 
that  tobacco  in  all  of  its  forms  is  an  unalloyed  evil,  and 
that  they  would  not  desire  their  children  to  become  ad- 
dicted to  its  use.  And  yet  the  most  effectual  way  to 
cause  their  children  to  use  it  certainly  is  to  use  it  in  their 
presence.  After  all  that  has  been  said  and  done  by  moral- 
ists and  philanthropists,  we  do  not  presume  to  be  able  to 
say  anything  that  shall  influence  the  acts  of  confirmed  to- 
bacco users,  but  if  we  may  be  able  to  give  them  a  few  hints 
by  which  they  shall  the  better  prevent  their  children  from 
falling  into  the  same  habit  we  shall  be  satisfied.  If  fathers 
will  persist  in  smoking  and  chewing  they  should  surely  try 
to  neutralize,  as  far  as  possible,  the  influence  of  their  ex- 
ample. This  is  a  dangerous  influence  at  best,  but  it  may 
be  rendered  more  or  less  so  according  to  the  desires  and 


198  OUR  HOME. 

acts  of  the  father.  No  father  should  smoke  frequently  in 
the  presence  of  his  boys,  especially  if  the  fumes  of  tobacco 
are  agreeable  to  them.  But  whenever  he  does  so,  he 
should  do  it  with  some  casual  remark  as  to  the  folly  of  the 
habit.  He  should  aim  to'  convey  the  impression  that  he  is 
t\L\  and  that  he  would  give  worlds  to  be  free.  It  is 
possible  that  in  this  way  the  very  evil  may  be  made  a 
means  of  good  to  the  child,  for  thus  he  may  early  come  to 
realize  the  truth  that  man  cannot  always  trust  himself, 
and  that  it  is  dangerous  to  trifle  with  any  vice  lest  it  bind 
him  with' a  chain  of  iron. 

He  who  feels  that  because  he  is  at  home  he  may  act  as 
he  chooses  and  throw  off  all  restraints  of  politeness  and 
good  manners  generally  finds  that  when  he  comes  to  put 
on  these  restraints  for  special  occasions  they  don't  fit,  and  it 
becomes  evident  that  the  harness  wasn't  made  for  him. 
Even  the  children  can  see  that  his  manner  is  entirely  arti- 
ficial and  is  not  his  own.  Such  men  when  they  are  occa- 
sionally compelled  to  go  into  society  experience  pain  and 
embarrassment  enough  to  outweigh  the  cost  of  being  de- 
corous and  mannerly  at  home. 

If  parents  expect  their  children  to  be  favorites  in  soci- 
ety, they  must  teach  them  good  manners.  The  world's 
fortress  that  has  stood  the  bombardment  of  many  a  genius 
has  fallen  under  the  more  subtle  force  of  good  manners. 
There  is  no  way  to  teach  children  good  manners  except  by 
ox  ample.     It  is  an  art  that  cannot  be  taught  to  advantage 


MANNERS  AT  HOME.  199 

theoretically.  The  tactics  of  courtesy  can  never  be  mas- 
tered without  field  practice.  If  husbands  are  not  courte- 
ous to  their  wives,  the  brothers  will  not  be  courteous  to 
their  sisters,  nor  when  they  in  turn  become  husbands  will 
they  be  courteous  to  their  wives.  Every  man  owes  to  his 
wife  and  to  his  daughter  at  least  the  same  considera- 
tions of  civility  and  politeness  that  he  owes  to  any  other 
women. 

From  the  "  Home  and  Health "  we  copy  the  following 
valuable  rules  which  seem  to  be  so  perfectly  to  the  point 
that  we  cannot  resist  the  temptation  to  appropriate  them  to 
our  purpose : — 

HOW   TO   BE   A   GOOD   HUSBAND. 

Honor  your  wife. 

Love  your  wife. 

Show  your  love. 

Suffer  for  your  wife  if  need  be. 

Study  to  keep  her  young. 

Consult  her. 

Help  to  bear  her  burdens. 

Be  thoughtful  of  her  always. 

Don't  command,  but  suggest. 

Seek  to  refine  your  own  nature. 

Be  a  gentleman  as  well  as  husband. 

Remember  the  past  experience  of  your  wife. 

Level  up  to  her  character. 

Stay  at  home  as  much  as  possible. 

Take  your  wife  with  you  often. 


200  OUR  HOME. 


HOW   TO   BE   A   GOOD   WIFE. 


Reverence  your  husband. 

Love  him. 

Do  not  conceal  your  love  for  him. 

Forsake  all  for  him. 

Confide  in  him. 

Keep  his  love. 

Cultivate  the  modesty  and  delicacy  of  youth. 

Cultivate  personal  attractiveness. 

If  you  read  nothing  and  make  no  effort  to  be  intelligent  you 
will  soon  sink  into  a  dull  block  of  stupidity. 

Cultivate  physical  attractiveness. 

Do  not  forget  the  power  of  incidental  attentions. 

Make  your  home  attractive. 

Keep  your  house  clean  and  in  good  order. 

Preserve  sunshine. 

Study  your  husband's  character. 

Cultivate  his  better  nature. 

Study  to  meet  all  your  duties  as  a  wife. 

Seek  to  secure  your  husband's  happiness. 

Study  his  interest. 

Practice  frugality. 

To  toil  hard  for  bread,  to  fight  the  wolf  from  the  door,  to 
resist  impatient  creditors,  to  struggle  against  complaining  pride 
at  home,  is  too  much  to  ask  of  one  man. 

Another  phase  of  home  manners  is  presented  in  the 
attitude  of  children  toward  their  parents.  American 
children  have  not,  as  a  rule,  that  deference  and  reverence 
for  their  parents  which  they  should  have.  From  the 
author   of   "  How  to  Behave,"    we    quote    the   following 


MANNERS  AT  HOME.  201 

forcible  description  of  the  characteristics  of  the  American 
child  :— 

"  Young  America  cannot  brook  restraint,  has  no  concep- 
tion of  superiority,  and  reverences  nothing.  His  ideas  of 
equality  admit  neither  limitation  nor  qualification.  He  is 
born  with  a  full  comprehension  of  his  own  individual 
rights,  but  is  slow  in  learning  his  social  duties.  Through 
whose  fault  comes  this  state  of  things?  American  boys 
and  girls  have  naturally  as  much  good  sense  and  good 
nature  as  those  of  any  other  nation,  and  when  well  trained 
no  children  are  more  courteous  and  agreeable.  The  fault 
lies  in  their  education.  In  the  days  of  our  grandfathers, 
children  were  taught  manners  at  school,  a  rather  rude, 
backward  sort  of  manners,  it  is  true,  but  better  than  the 
no  manners  at  all  of  the  present  day.  We  must  blame  par- 
ents in  this  matter,  rather  than  their  children.  If  you 
would  have  your  children  grow  up  beloved  and  respected 
by  their  elders  as  well  as  their  contemporaries,  teach  them 
good  manners  in  their  childhood.  The  young  sovereign 
should  first  learn  to  obey,  that  he  may  be  the  better  fitted 
to  command  in  his  turn." 

He  who  does  not  love,  respect,  and  reverence  his  mother, 
is  a  boor,  whatever  his  pretentions  may  be.  He  who  can 
allow  any  other  woman  to  crowd  from  his  heart  the  love 
for  his  mother  does  not  deserve  the  affection  of  any 
woman. 

One  of  the  evil  habits  exhibited  for  the  most  part  at 


208  OUR  HOME. 

home  is  that  known  as  "  sulking."  This  not  only  spoils 
the  comfort  of  the  whole  family  for  the  time,  but  the  habit 
grows  stronger  with  age,  until  it  often  ruins  the  person's 
disposition  and  prospect  of  happiness  in  life.  We  have 
seen  cases  where  this  disposition  to  sulk  had  produced 
such  effects  upon  the  character  that  the  persons  were  act- 
ually objects  of  pity.  When  the  sulky  child  goes  out  into 
the  world  with  his  vice  he  will  not  find  a  mother  who  will 
patiently  wait  until  his  sulks  have  passed  away ;  but 
society  will  desert  him  and  leave  him  alone  in  his  bitter- 
ness. 

But  the  opposite  condition  of  perpetual  levity  is  to  be 
avoided  as  fatal  to  real  earnestness  and  depth  of  character. 
As  a  rule,  the  ludicrous  is  seen  on  the  surface  of  things, 
and  he  who  is  always  finding  something  to  excite  laughter 
is  generally  of  a  superficial  mind.  The  deep  mind  is  more 
apt  to  overlook  this  surface  coat.  It  is  true  there  is  noth- 
ing so  good  for  the  health  of  body  or  mind  as  hearty  laugh- 
ter, and  he  who  cannot  appreciate  a  good  joke  should  be 
pitied.  And  yet  the  excess  of  this  good  thing  does  surely 
indicate,  if  not  positive  weakness,  a  want  of  habitual 
action  in  the  more  serious  faculties  of  the  mind. 

We  supplement  this  chapter  with  the  following  rules  for 
the  government  of  conduct  in  society.  They  should  be 
read  and  re-read  by  the  members  of  the  family  till  they  are 
thoroughly  mastered,  as  the  student  would  master  the 
rules  of  grammar.     It  is  not  enough  to  read  them  as  we 


MANNERS  AT  HOME.  203 

would  read  a  novel,  from  mere  curiosity,  but  they  should 
be  studied  with  a  view  to  being  applied. 

So  much  has  been  written  on  the  subject  of  etiquette 
and  conduct  that  it  is  of  course  impossible  for  us  to  say 
anything  new.  The  most  we  have  attempted  is  to  recast 
and  adapt  to  the  special  needs  of  the  times  that  which  has 
already  been  written. 

We  have  consulted  the  best  and  most  unquestionable 
authorities,  and  for  each  and  every  phase  of  life  have  tried 
to  give  a  few  rules  of  special  importance.  So  that  the  list 
itself  is  virtually  a  condensed  volume  on  the  subject  of 
etiquette,  no  vital  rule  of  conduct  being  omitted. 

The  golden  rule  is  the  embodiment  of  all  true  politeness. 

Always  allow  an  invalid,  an  elderly  person  or  a  lady  to 
occupy  the  most  comfortable  chair  in  the  room,  and  also 
to  accommodate  themselves  with  reference  to  light  and 
temperature. 

Never  make  the  weakness  or  misfortunes  of  another  the 
occasion  of  mirth  or  ridicule. 

Always  respect  a  social  inferior,  not  in  a  condescending 
way,  but  with  the  feeling  that  he  is  as  good  as  you. 

Never  answer  a  serious  question  in  jest,  nor  a  civil  ques- 
tion rudely. 

The  religious  opinions  of  all,  even  those  of  infidels, 
should  be  respected,  for  religious  tolerance  is  not  only  nec- 
essary to  good  manners,  but  is  a  cardinal  idea  in  the  doc- 
trine of  human  liberty. 


204  OUR  HOME. 

A  true  gentleman  or  lady  is  always  quiet  and  unassuming. 
The  person  of  real  worth  can  afford  to  be  unassuming,  for 
others  will  assume  for  him. 

To  laugh  at  one's  own  jokes  will  take  the  temper  out  of 
the  keenest  wit.  It  is  not  necessary,  however,  that  he 
should  maintain  a  serious  and  pharisaical  countenance,  he 
may  laugh  mildly  in  sympathy  with  those  who  appreciate 
his  wit,  provided  he  is  not  the  first  to  laugh. 

Too  great  familiarity  toward  a  new  acquaintance  is  not 
only  in  bad  taste,  but  is  fatal  to  the  continuance  of  friend- 
ship. 

The  most  refined  and  cultivated  always  seek  to  avoid, 
both  in  their  dress  and  in  their  behavior,  the  appearance 
of  any  desire  to  attract  attention.  Extremes  in  fashion 
and  flashy  colors  are  marks  of  a  low  degree  of  cultiva- 
tion. Savages  are  never  pleased  by  the  finer  blendings 
either  in  color  or  sound. 

When  in  •  company  talk  as  little  as  possible  of  your- 
self or  of  the  business  or  profession  in  which  you  are 
engaged,  at  least,  do  not  be  the  first  to  introduce  these 
topics. 

Every  species  of  affectation  is  absolutely  disgusting.  It 
is  also  so  easily  detected  that  no  one  but  an  actor  can  con- 
ceal it. 

When  it  is  necessary  to  call  upon  a  business  man  in  the 
hours  of  business,  if  possible,  select  that  hour  in  which  you 
have  reason  to  believe  he  is  least  engaged.     And  even  then 


MANNERS  AT  HOME.  205 

talk  only  of  business  unless  he  should  introduce  other  top- 
ics. Unless  the  person  sustains  some  other  relation  to  you 
than  that  of  business,  do  not  stop  a  moment  after  you 
have  completed  your  business. 

If  you  have  wronged  any  one,  not  only  the  rules  of 
etiquette,  but  the  most  obvious  interpretation  of  moral 
obligation  requires  you  to  be  willing  and  quick  to  apolo- 
gize. And  never,  under  any  circumstances,  refuse  to  ac- 
cept an  honest  apology  for  an  offense. 

Pay  whatever  attention  you  choose  to  your  dress  and 
personal  appearance  before  you  enter  society,  but  after- 
wards expel  the  subject  from  your  mind  and  do  not  allow 
your  thoughts  to  dwell  upon  it. 

Never  enter  a  house,  even  your  own,  without  removing 
your  hat. 

Do  not  try  to  be  mysterious  in  company,  by  alluding  in 
an  equivocal  manner,  to  those  things  which  only  one  or 
two  of  the  company  understand. 

Never  boast  of  your  own  knowledge,  and  do  not,  either 
directly  or  indirectly,  accuse  another  of  a  lack  of  knowl- 
edge. Do  not  even  manifest  your  knowledge  of  any  par- 
ticular subject  in  such  a  way  and  under  such  circumstances 
as  will  cause  another  to  appear  to  poor  advantage. 

Never  leave  a  friend  suddenly  while  engaged  in  an  inter- 
esting conversation.  Wait  till  there  is  a  pause  or  a  turn 
in  the  conversation. 

Do  not  hesitate  to  offer  any  assistance,  that  the  occasion 


20G  OUR  HOME. 

may  seem  to  demand,  to  a  lady,  even  though  she  may  be  a 
stranger. 

In  company  mention  your  husband  or  wife  with  the 
same  degree  of  respect  with  which  you  would  speak  of  a 
stranger,  and  reserve  all  pet  names  for  times  and  places  in 
which  they  will  be  better  appreciated. 

Never  violate  the  confidence  of  another.  Do  not  seek 
to  avenge  a  wrong  by  revealing  the  secrets  of  an  enemy, 
which  were  told  to  you  while  he  was  a  friend. 

Always  dispose  of  your  time  as  if  your  watch  were  too 
fast,  you  will  then  have  a  few  moments'  margin  in  the  ful- 
fillment of  all  engagements.  To  break  an  engagement 
almost  always  injures  you  more  than  the  other  party. 

Treat  a  lady,  whatever  may  be  her  social  or  moral  rank, 
as  though  she  were  a  princess. 

Always  show  a  willingness  to  converse  with  a  lady  on 
any  topic  that  she  may  select. 

Do  not  ask  questions  concerning  the  private  affairs  of 
your  friends,  nor  be  curious  in  regard  to  the  business  rela- 
tions of  any  one. 

Wrangling  and  contradictions  are  not  only  violations  of 
etiquette,  but  they  also  violate  the  requirements  of  tact, 
since  they  defeat  the  very  purpose  of  respectful  discussion, 
viz.,  to  convince. 

Return  a  borrowed  book,  when  you  have  finished  read- 
ing it,  without  delay.  A  library  made  up  of  borrowed 
books  is  a  disgraceful  possession. 


MANNERS  AT  HOME.  207 

When  entering  a  room  bow  slightly  to  the  whole  com- 
pany, but  to  no  one  in  particular. 

Make  the  comfort  and  welfare  of  others  a  prime  object 
of  your  life,  and  you  will  thereby  fulfill  all  the  require- 
ments of  etiquette. 

In  addition  to  the  foregoing,  we  present  another  list  of 
rules  which  ought  to  be  of  special  interest  to  every  Amer- 
ican citizen,  not  only  on  account  of  their  intrinsic  worth, 
but  also  on  account  of  their  origin,  for  their  author  was 
George  Washington.  He  called  them  his  "Rules  of  Civil- 
ity and  Decent  Behavior  in  Company."  They  were  writ- 
ten at  the  age  of  thirteen,  and  have  been  termed  "Wash- 
ington's Maxims." 

1.  Every  action  in  company  ought  to  be  with  some  sign  of 
respect  to  those  present. 

2.  In  the  presence  of  others  sing  not  to  yourself  with  a  hum- 
ming voice,  nor  drum  with  your  fingers  or  feet. 

3.  Speak  not  when  others  speak,  sit  not  when  others  stand, 
and  walk  not  when  others  stop. 

4.  Turn  not  your  back  to  others,  especially  in  speaking  ;  jog 
not  the  table  or  desk  on  which  another  reads  or  writes  ;  lean 
not  on  any  one. 

5.  Be  no  flatterer,  neither  play  with  any  one  that  delights  not 
to  be  played  with. 

6.  Read  no  letters,  books  or  papers  in  company;  but  when 
there  is  a  necessity  for  doing  it,  you  must  not  leave.  Come 
not  near  the  books  or  writings  of  any  one  so  as  to  read  them 
unasked  ;  also  look  not  nigh  when  another  is  writing  a  letter. 


208  OUR  HOME. 

7.  Let  your  countenance  be  pleasant,  but  in  serious  matters 
somewhat  grave. 

8.  Show  not  yourself  glad  at  the  misfortune  of  another, 
though  he  were  your  enemy. 

9.  They  that  are  in  dignity  or  office  have  in  all  places  prece- 
dency, but  whilst  they  are  young,  they  ought  to  respect  those 
that  are  their  equals  in  birth  or  other  qualities,  though  they 
have  no  public  charge. 

10.  It  is  good  manners  to  prefer  them  to  whom  we  speak  be- 
fore ourselves,  especially  if  they  be  above  us. 

11.  Let  your  discourse  with  men  of  business  be  short  and 
comprehensive. 

12.  In  visiting  the  sick  do  not  presently  play  the  physician  if 
you  be  not  knowing  therein. 

13.  In  writing  or  speaking,  give  to  every  person  his  due  title 
according  to  his  degree  and  the  custom  of  the  place. 

14.  Strive  not  with  your  superiors  in  argument,  but  always 
submit  your  judgment  to  others  with  modesty. 

15.  Undertake  not  to  teach  your  equal  in  the  art  he  himself 
professes  ;  it  savors  arrogancy. 

16.  When  a  man  does  all  he  can  though  it  succeeds  not  well, 
blame  not  him  that  did  it. 

17.  Being  to  advise  or  reprehend  any  one,  consider  whether  it 
ought  to  be  in  public  or  in  private,  presently  or  at  some  other 
time,  also  in  what  terms  to  do  it  ;  and  in  reproving  show  no 
signs  of  choler,  but  do  it  with  sweetness  and  mildness. 

18.  Mock  not  nor  jest  at  anything  of  importance  ;  break  no 
jests  that  are  sharp  or  biting,  and  if  you  deliver  anything  witty 
or  pleasant,  abstain  from  laughing  thereat  yourself. 


MANNERS  AT  HOME.  209 

19.  Wherein  you  reprove  another  be  unblamable  yourself, 
for  example  is  more  prevalent  than  precept. 

20.  Use  no  reproachful  language  against  any  one,  neither 
curses  or  revilings. 

21.  Be  not  hasty  to  believe  flying  reports  to  the  disparage- 
ment of  any  one. 

22.  In  your  apparel  be  modest,  and  endeavor  to  accommodate 
nature  rather  than  procure  admiration.  Keep  to  the  fashion  of 
your  equals,  such  as  are  civil  and  orderly  with  respect  to  time 
and  place. 

23.  Play  not  the  peacock,  looking  everywhere  about  you  to 
see  if  you  be  well  decked,  if  your  shoes  fit  well,  if  your  stock- 
ings set  neatly  and  clothes  handsomely. 

24.  Associate  yourself  with  men  of  good  quality  if  you  es- 
teem your  reputation,  for  it  is  better  to  be  alone  than  in  bad 
company. 

25.  Let  your  conversation  be  without  malice  or  envy,  for  it  is 
a  sign  of  a  tractable  and  commendable  nature  ;  and  in  all  cases 
of  passion  admit  reason  to  govern. 

26.  Be  not  immodest  in  urging  your  friend  to  discover  a 
secret. 

27.  Utter  not  base  and  frivolous  things  amongst  grown  and 
learned  men,  nor  very  difficult  questions  or  subjects  amongst 
the  ignorant,  nor  things  hard  to  be  believed. 

28.  Speak  not  of  doleful  things  in  time  of  mirth  nor  at  the 
table;  speak  not  of  melancholy  things,  as  death  and  wounds; 
and  if  others  mention  them,  change,  if  you  can,  the  discourse. 
Tell  not  your  dreams  but  to  your  intimate  friends. 

29.  Break   not   a   jest    when   none  take   pleasure  in  mirth. 

14 


210  OUR  HOME. 

Laugh  not  aloud,  nor  at  all  without  occasion.     Deride  no  man's 
misfortunes,  though  there  seem  to  be  some  cause. 

30.  Speak  not  injurious  words,  neither  in  jest  nor  earnest. 
Scoff  at  none,  although  they  give  occasion. 

31.  Be  not  forward,  but  friendly  and  courteous,  the  first  to 
salute,  hear  and  answer,  and  be  not  pensive  when  it  is  time  to 
converse. 

32.  Detract  not  from  others,  but  neither  be  excessive  in  com- 
mending. 

33.  Go  not  thither  where  you  know  not  whether  you  shall  be 
welcome  or  not.  Give  not  advice  without  being  asked;  and 
when  desired,  do  it  briefly. 

34.  If  two  contend  together,  take  not  the  part  of  either  un- 
constrained, and  be  not  obstinate  in  your  opinions;  in  things 
indifferent  be  of  the  major  side. 

35.  Reprehend  not  the  imperfection  of  others,  for  that  be- 
longs to  parents,  masters  and  superiors. 

36.  Gaze  not  on  the  marks  or  blemishes  of  others,  and  ask 
not  how  they  came.  What  you  may  speak  in  secret  to  your 
friend  deliver  not  before  others. 

37.  Speak  not  in  an  unknown  tongue  in  company,  but  in  your 
own  language;  and  that  as  those  of  quality  do,  and  not  as  the 
vulgar.     Sublime  matters  treat  seriously. 

38.  Think  before  you  speak;  pronounce  not  imperfectly,  nor 
bring  out  your  words  too  heartily,  but  orderly  and  distinctly. 

39.  When  another  speaks,  be  attentive  yourself,  and  disturb 
not  the  audience.  If  any  hesitate  in  his  words,  help  him  not, 
nor  prompt  him  without  being  desired;  interrupt  him  not,  nor 
answer  him  till  his  speech  be  ended. 


MANNERS  A  T  HOME.  211 

40.  Treat  with  men  at  fit  times  about  business,  and  whisper 
not  in  the  company  of  others. 

41.  Make  no  comparisons;  and  if  any  of  the  company  be 
commended  for  any  brave  act  of  virtue,  commend  not  another 
for  the  same. 

42.  Be  not  apt  to  relate  news  if  you  know  not  the  truth 
thereof.  In  discoursing  of  things  that  you  have  heard,  name 
not  your  author  always.     A  secret  discover  not. 

43.  Be  not  curious  to  know  the  affairs  of  others,  neither  ap- 
proach to  those  who  speak  in  private. 

44.  Undertake  not  what  you  cannot  perform;  but  be  careful 
to  keep  your  promise. 

45.  When  you  deliver  a  matter,  do  it  without  passion  and  in- 
discretion, however  mean  the  person  may  be  you  do  it  to. 

46.  When  your  superiors  talk  to  anybody,  hear  them;  neither 
speak  nor  laugh. 

47.  In  disputes  be  not  so  desirous  to  overcome  as  not  to  give 
liberty  to  each  one  to  deliver  his  opinion,  and  submit  to  the 
judgment  of  the  major  part,  especially  if  they  are  judges  of  the 
dispute. 

48.  Be  not  tedious  in  discourse,  make  not  many  digressions, 
nor  repeat  often  the  same  matter  of  discourse. 

49.  Speak  no  evil  of  the  absent,  for  it  is  unjust. 

50.  Be  not  angry  at  table,  whatever  happens;  and  if  you 
have  reason  to  be  so  show  it  not;  put  on  a  cheerful  counte- 
nance, especially  if  there  be  strangers,  for  good  humor  makes 
one  dish  a  feast. 

51.  Set  not  yourself  at  the  upper  end  of  the  table;    but  if  it 


8U  OUR  HOME. 

be  your  due,  or  the  master  of  the  house  will  have  it  so,  contend 
not,  lest  you  should  trouble  the  company. 

52.  When  you  speak  of  God  or  his  attributes,  let  it  be  seri- 
ously, in  reverence  and  honor,  and  obey  your  natural  parents. 

53.  Let  your  recreations  be  manful,  not  sinful. 

5-4.  Labor  to  keep  alive  in   your  breast   that  little   spark  of 
celestial  fire  called  conscience. 

14  Few  to  good  breeding  make  a  just  pretense; 
Good  breeding  is  the  blossom  of  good  sense; 
The  last  result  of  an  accomplished  mind, 
With  outward  grace,  the  body's  virtue,  join'd." 


FAMILY   SECRETS. 


^p>  ATURE'S  most  beneficent  operations  are  hid- 
den from  our  sight  beneath  the  surface  of 
things.  The  germination  of  all  life  is  under 
a  veil.  She  will  not  let  a  seed  sprout  till  she 
has  buried  it.  All  Nature  is  one  great  hall  of 
free-masonry  where  every  movement  is  at  the 
gesture  of  a  spectral  hand.  In  secrecy  and 
even  deception,  she  is  an  adept.  Not  only 
does  she  hide  her  operations  from  our  sight, 
but  she  actually  gives  false  signals.  She  is 
an  accomplished  ventriloquist,  and  we  cannot  tell  whence 
come  her  most  characteristic  sounds.  The  cry  of  the  new 
born  infant  comes  to  us  from  the  thicket,  and  at  the  birth- 
day party  of  a  child  the  irresponsible  parrot  becomes  the 
orator  of  the  day.  The  mocking-bird,  in  droll  mimicry, 
utters  the  wail  of  sorrow  and  the  laugh  of  joy.  The 
spider  touched,  feigns  death.  The  earthquake  is  prone  to 
imitate  the  thunder.  The  voices  of  the  night  are  inter- 
changeable. The  stupid  owl  steals  the  voice  of  sorrow, 
and  the  breeze  whispers  every  sentiment.  The  sky  pre- 
sents the  delusion  of  a  blue  tent  cover,  while  every  tree 


\>U  OUR  HUME. 

that  looks  into  the  mirror  of  the  stream  sees  itself  a  broken 
staff.  We  look  upon  the  flat  stretched  canvas,  and  through 
t lie  cunning  jugglery  of  light  and  shade  it  becomes  a  liv- 
ing, breathing  reality. 

Yet  who  shall  dare  prove  Mature  a  liar  and  face  the  cor- 
ollary? A  work  is  never  better  than  its  author,  and  if  we 
regard  Nature  as  the  work  of  God,  the  awfulness  of  that 
corollary  should  surely  cause  us  to  review  our  thoughts. 

Nature  is  not  a  liar.  No  act  of  hers  falls  under  any  pos- 
sible definition  of  a  lie.  Shu  simply  possesses  the  instinct 
of  secrecy. 

Honesty  compels  no  man  to  stop  on  the  highway  to  ex- 
plain his  errand,  and  it'  curious  idlers  inquire  of  him,  there 
i|  no  phrase  in  honesty's  law  that  bids  him  divulge  a  right- 
ful secret.  And  if  the  man  perceives  that  he  is  watched 
by  these  idlers,  he  may,  with  truth's  approval,  take  the 
first  cross  road  that  leads  him  in  the  opposite  direction 
from  the  object  of  his  errand.  Perhaps  the  idler's  highest 
good  demands  that  the  secret  be  withheld  from  him. 

Now  let  us  see  if  these  limitations  do  not  cover  every 
license  of  Nature. 

For  some  wise  purpose  most  of  Nature's  secrets  are  with- 
held from  us.  We  may  believe  that  to  know  them  would 
harm  us.  Perhaps  our  pride  demands  that  they  be  with- 
held, or  perhaps  again  the  scheme  of  development  and 
spirit  growth  demands  it.  However  this  may  be,  we  know 
that  most  of  the  secrets  are  withheld.     We  are  idle  ques- 


FAMILY  SECRETS.  215 

tioners,  and  often  compel  her  to  take  cross  roads,  or  to 
walk  in  brooks  to  destroy  the  scent  of  her  trail.  In  every 
case  she  but  withholds  a  rightful  secret.  The  purpose  of 
the  mocking-bird  is  simply  to  defeat  our  pride  when  we 
claim  to  know  what  Nature  is  about  by  the  intonations  of 
her  voice.  She  hides  the  knowledge  of  disease  from  us 
while  she  attempts  to  cure  it  without  frightening  us.  To 
gaze  forever  on  a  ghastly  skeleton  would  sicken  us  of  life. 
Hence  Nature  with  cunning  and  deceptive  fingers  has 
buried  deep  beneath  her  broidery  of  flesh  the  awful  sugges- 
tion of  death. 

Thus,  while  we  have  freed  Nature  from  our  own  implied 
charge  of  falsehood,  we  have  yet  learned  from  her  a  grand 
lesson.  We  have  learned  that  she  is  the  great  advocate  of 
family  secrets. 

Secrecy  is  one  of  the  first  duties  that  the  domestic  rela- 
tion imposes.  It  is  one  of  the  cardinal  necessities  to  the 
existence  of  the  family.  Every  family  has  its  secrets  and 
must  have  them  while  it  is  a  family.  To  publish  the 
secrets  of  any  family  would  be  to  dissipate  that  family. 

The  sacred  right  to  secrecy  transcends  all  etiquette.  No 
rule  of  manners  can  compel  one  to  divulge  one  secret  of 
his  domestic  relations.  Without  confidence  the  marriage 
bond  would  be  a  rope  of  sand.  But  secrecy  is  the  only 
condition  that  can  maintain  confidence. 

It  is  the  custom  of  many  married  people  to  make  no 
secret  of  their  love,  and  on  all  public  occasions  they  seek, 


Slfl  OUR  HOME. 

in  a  most  sickening  manner,  to  display  their  affection. 
This  is  not  only  a  violation  of  good  taste,  but  it  is  a  viola- 
tion  of  the  instincts  of  human  nature  as  well.  The  senti- 
ment of  love  in  all  its  phases  seeks  instinctively  the  haunts 
of  privacy.  Whether  in  its  first  pure  awakening  in  the 
breast  of  youth  and  maiden,  or,  in  its  maturer  and  grander 
form,  when  crowned  with  fruits  immortal,  it  alike  retreats 
from  the  gaze  of  those  who  cannot  sympathize. 

Love  is  poetical  until  we  see  it  manifested  in  others.  It 
then  becomes  disgusting,  and  those  who  indulge  in  public 
demonstrations  are  always  the  objects  of  ridicule. 

Not  that  a  man  should  feign  coldness  or  indifference 
toward  his  wife  in  public.  This  is  not  at  all  the  import  of 
what  we  have  said.  Husbands  and  wives  should  appear 
tender  and  considerate  of  each  other  in  public  places.  It 
is  perfectly  proper  that  their  manner  should  proclaim  their 
relation.  But  true  love  between  husband  and  wife  demands 
a  more  engrossing  attention,  the  tenderer  endearments  and 
caresses  which  society  in  the  aggregate  cannot  understand. 
They  constitute  a  language  that  only  love  can  understand. 
Hence  Nature  has  kindly  given  to  us  a  disposition  to  con- 
ceal them. 

The  fact  that  the  heart  shrinks  from  the  public  manifes- 
tation of  affection  is  the  highest  compliment  to  its  inno- 
cence and  purity,  a  proof  that  it  is  above  the  comprehen- 
sion of  the  world's  common  moods.  And  in  this  fact  is 
based  the  philosophy  of  family  secrets. 


FAMILY  SECRETS.  217 

The  family  is  the  outgrowth  of  love,  and  love's  eternal 
condition  is  secrecy.  Hence  the  family  relation  in  all  its 
phases  is  more  or  less  intimately  connected  with  the  in- 
stinct of  secrecy.  It  is  a  native  impulse  of  every  high- 
minded  person  to  keep  those  facts  a  secret  which  pertain  to 
the  history  of  his  family — even  those  facts  which  in  their 
nature  do  not  demand  secrecy. 

Nature  hides  the  embryo  of  every  seed,  and  carries  on  in 
the  dark  the  process  by  which  she  rears  and  trains  the  lit- 
tle plant,  and  the  mother  should  follow  Nature's  example 
in  rearing  and  training  her  child.  Children  punished,  or 
in  any  way  disciplined  in  the  presence  of  others,  are  almost 
always  made  worse  thereby,  instead  of  better.  That  in- 
tuitive confidence  and  mutual  knowledge  that  exists  be- 
tween mother  and  child  is  so  delicate  in  its  nature  that  the 
presence  of  a  third  party,  even  if  it  be  a  brother  or  a  sister, 
is  sometimes  fatal  to  its  proper  action. 

Parents  should  never  censure  their  children,  nor  even 
speak  disparagingly  of  them,  in  the  presence  of  strangers  or 
visitors. 

There  are  certain  private  rights  which  belong  to  each 
member  of  a  family,  and  should  not  be  violated,  and  yet 
their  rights  are  too  often  disregarded. 

Every  one  naturally  holds  back  the  expression  of  the 
greater  parts  of  his  thoughts.  For  every  thought  that  we 
express  we  have  a  thousand  that  never  pass  the  limits  of 
our  own  consciousness.     This,  of  course,  we  feel  to  be  a 


318  OUR  HOME. 

natural  right,  and  when  it  is  encroached  upon,  we  instinct- 
ively act  upon  the  defensive.  When  one's  sphere  of  privacy 
is  trespassed  upon  by  another,  there  is  a  spontaneous  and 
joint  action  of  the  inventive  and  secretive  functions,  which 
results  in  an  attempt  to  deceive.  Hence  the  habit  of 
falsehood  may  be  produced  in  a  child  by  not  conceding  to 
him  the  natural  right  of  privacy.  We  quote  the  follow- 
ing from  the  author  of  "  The  Illustrated  Manners  Book  "  : — 

"  One  of  the  rights  commonly  trespassed  upon,  consti- 
tutinga  violent  breach  of  good  manners,  is  the  right  of 
privacy,  or  of  the  control  of  one's  own  person  and  affairs. 
There  are  places  in  this  country  where  there  exists  scarcely 
the  slightest  recognition  of  this  right.  A  man  or  woman 
bolts  into  your  house  without  knocking.  No  room  is 
sacred  unless  you  lock  the  door,  and  an  exclusion  would  be 
an  insult.  Parents  intrude  upon  children  and  children 
upon  parents !  The  husband  thinks  he  has  a  right  to  enter 
his  wife's  room,  and  the  wife  would  feel  injured  if  excluded 
by  night  or  day  from  her  husband's.  It  is  said  that  they 
even  open  each  other's  letters,  and  claim  as  a  right  that 
neither  should  have  any  secrets  from  the  other. 

"  It  is  difficult  to  conceive  of  such  a  state  of  intense  bar- 
barism in  £  civilized  country,  such  a  denial  of  the  simplest 
and  most  primitive  rights,  such  an  utter  absence  of  deli- 
cacy and  good  manners ;  and  had  we  not  been  assured  on 
good  authority  that  such  things  exist,  we  should  consider 
any  suggestion  respecting  them  needless  and  impertinent. 


FAMILY  SECRETS.  219 

"  Every  person  in  a  dwelling  should,  if  possible,  have  a 
room  as  sacred  from  intrusion  as  the  house  is  to  the  fam- 
ily. No  child  grown  to  the  years  of  discretion  should  be 
outraged  by  intrusion.  No  relation,  however  intimate, 
can  justify  it.  So  the  trunks,  boxes,  papers  and  letters  of 
every  individual,  locked  or  unlocked,  sealed  or  unsealed, 
are  sacred." 

This  matter  of  privacy  can,  no  doubt,  be  carried  to  ex- 
cess, and  whether  we  endorse  all  of  the  foregoing  or  not, 
it  certainly  contains  much  truth.  The  tendency  of  civil- 
ization has  always  been  toward  the  development  of  indi- 
viduality and  private  interest.  In  the  rude  civilization  of 
frontier  life,  one  room  serves  as  parlor,  kitchen,  and 
sleeping  room  for  the  whole  family,  and  all  private  inter- 
ests within  the  family  are  ignored.  This  principle  is  still 
more  forcibly  illustrated  by  comparing  savage  with  civil- 
ized life.  Although  civilization  tends  to  the  multiplica- 
tion and  development  of  social  institutions,  yet  it  tends 
still  more  to  the  development  of  the  individual.  It  brings 
the  aggregate  interest  into  harmony  with  that  of  the  indi- 
vidual. This  it  does  not  so  much  by  curtailing  and  modi- 
fying the  rights  of  the  mass,  as  by  recognizing  and  in- 
creasing the  rights  of  the  individual. 

We  do  not  mean  by  individual  rights,  individual  isola- 
tion in  the  sense  in  which  we  find  it  on  the  first  pages  of 
human  history.  The  individual  and  the  family  were  then 
sufficiently  isolated.     Every  family  was  a  nation  in  itself, 


OUR  HOME. 

but  it  had  no  rights  which  it  could  not  sustain  with  rock 
and  club.  The  family  and  society  could  not  then  exist 
together,  but  civilization  finds  its  one  great  problem  in  the 
proposition  of  their  union.  While  society  is  still  develop- 
ing, the  isolation  of  the  family  and  of  the  individual  is  re- 
tained, and  family  secrets  are  rendered  more  necessary  by 
every  advance  of  civilization. 

But  family  secrets  does  not  mean  family  reserve  or  es- 
trangement. Better  a  thousand  times  that  every  individ- 
ual right  should  be  ignored  than  that  husbands  and  wives 
and  brothers  and  sisters  should  become  cold  and  distant 
and  indifferent.  This  is  the  most  fatal  catastrophe  that 
can  befall  a  family.  Indeed,  it  is  the  death  blow  to  home, 
and  what  remains  is  but  the  ghastly  skeleton  from  which 
the  spirit  lias  forever  flown.  The  family  whose  members 
do  not  mutually  consult  and  advise  and  work  together 
for  each  other's  good  have  virtually  surrendered  the  char- 
ter of  home,  and  are  living  as  strangers  whom  circum- 
stances have  compelled  to  live  in  close  proximity.  History 
affords  hardly  an  example  of  a  man  who  has  proved  a 
grand  success,  who  did  not  make  his  wife  a  partner  in  his 
schemes.  Behind  every  brilliant  career  there  will  be  found 
a  Martha  or  a  Josephine.  The  very  fact  of  legitimate 
family  secrets  renders  more  beautiful  the  intercourse  of 
home,  and  sweetens  the  very  associations  and  heart-bleed- 
ings that  are  legitimate  nowhere  else  but  in  the  heart  of 
home. 


FAMILY  SECRETS.  221 

"  From  the  outward  world  about  us, 

From  the  hurry  aud  the  din, 
Oh,  how  little  do  we  gather 

Of  the  other  world  within! 

****** 
But  when  the  hearth  is  kindled, 

And  the  house  is  hushed  at  night — 
Ah,  then  the  secret  writing 

Of  the  spirit  comes  to  light! 
Through  the  mother's  light  caressing 

Of  the  baby  on  her  knee, 
We  see  the  mystic  writing 

That  she  does  not  know  we  see- 
By  the  love-light  as  it  flashes 

In  her  tender-lidded  eyes, 
We  know  if  that  her  vision  rest 

On  earth,  or  in  the  skies; 
And  by  the  song  she  chooses, 

By  the  very  tune  she  sings, 
We  know  if  that  her  heart  be  set 

On  seen,  or  unseen  things." 


DUTIES   OF   HOME. 


HE  word  home  seems  to  be  inseparably  con- 
nected with  certain  specific  duties.  One  can- 
not dwell  within  the  circle  of  home  without 
being  morally  responsible  for  the  discharge 
of  special  duties  that  owe  their  origin  to  the 
home  relations. 

The  first  duty  of  home  in  the  order  of  de- 
velopment, since  it  is  developed  as  soon  as 
the  home  is  established,  is  the  duty  of  husband  and  wife  to 
each  other.  Men  too  often  forget  that  they  owe  any  special 
duties  to  their  wives,  and  yet  there  is  no  man  who  has  a 
worthy  wife  but  owes  her  a  debt  he  can  never  pay.  She 
has  given  him  what  fortune  cannot  purchase,  a  human 
heart.  She  has  paid  him  the  highest  compliment  that  one 
human  being  can  pay  to  another.  She  has  told  him  by 
actions  that  cannot  lie,  that  he  is  more  to  her  than  all  the 
associations  of  her  life ;  more  than  the  sweet  playmates  of 
her  girlhood ;  more  than  her  sister's  caress  and  brother's 
pride ;  more  than  the  love  and  tenderness  of  parents ;  more 
than  her  dear  old  home.  She  leaves  all  these  for  him, 
although  her  heart  strings  cannot  be  unwound  from  any  of 


DUTIES  OF  HOME.  223 

them,  but  must  be  broken  and  torn  away.  Does  human 
life  present  a  more  touching  spectacle  than  that  of  a  young 
bride  suppressing  her  tears  and  forcing  a  smile  while  she 
kisses  her  mother  and  father  and  sister  and  brother  fare- 
well ?  How  hard  hearted,  how  unworthy  of  her,  how  even 
beastly,  must  be  the  man,  if  we  may  give  him  that  title, 
who  does  not  under  those  circumstances  feel  his  knees  bend 
a  little  with  the  instinctive  impulse  of  adoration. 

The  husband  can  discharge  the  duties  which  he  owes 
to  his  wife  only  by  keeping  perpetually  in  his  mind  that  he 
owes  her  a  debt  to  pay,  which  it  will  be  necessary  to  take 
advantage  of  every  passing  opportunity. 

But  the  obligations  and  duties  are  not  all  on  the  part  of 
the  husband.  If  the  wife  is  the  woman  that  she  ought  to 
be,  and  esteems  herself  accordingly,  and  at  the  same  time 
considers  the  man  whom  she  has  accepted  as  worthy  of 
her,  she  ought  certainly  to  feel  under  the  deepest  obliga- 
tion to  him. 

The  first  duty  that  a  wife  owes  to  her  husband  is  to  ap- 
pear attractive  to  him.  She  should  dress  with  almost  ex- 
clusive reference  to  his  tastes.  This  subject,  idle  as  it  may 
seem,  is  fraught  with  deep  consequences  to  the  race.  We 
cannot  tell  the  reader  all  about  it  without  discussing  at 
length  the  broad  question  of  "natural  selection,"  which 
would  be  out  of  place  in  a  work  like  this.  Suffice  it  to 
say,  that  great  law  demands  that  the  wife  should  continually 
appeal  as  strongly  as  possible,  to  the  sense  of  beauty  in  her 


IS  home. 

husband.  No  man  ever  yet  loved  a  woman  who  was  not 
to  him  beautiful.  It  is  beauty  that  man  loves  in  woman, 
and  when  other  things  are  equal  his  love  for  his  wife  is  just 
proportionate  to  her  beauty. 

There  have  been,  doubtless,  many  women  so  ill-formed 
and  so  unsymmetrical  in  their  features  that  they  could  not 
possibly  present  to  any  man  a  single  trace  of  physical 
beauty,  and  yet  they  have  been  the  objects  of  the  tenderest 
love. 

But  in  every  such  case  there  will  be  found  either  an  in- 
tellectual or  a  moral  beauty  that  has  charmed  the  lover. 

George  Eliot  and  the  wife  of  Carlyle  could  not  lay 
claim  to  very  much  of  the  "  dimpled  beauty,"  yet  was 
there  not  a  higher  beauty  in  their  souls,  that  even  found  ex- 
pression in  their  faces  when  closely  observed,  and  for  which 
the  giddy  girl  might  well  desire  to  exchange  her  dimples. 

And  yet  physical  beauty  has  its  high  office.  Every 
face  of  beauty  is  from  the  chisel  of  the  eternal  sculptor. 
Every  dimple  is  the  finger  print  of  the  divine.  Woman's 
highest  and  grandest  endowment  is  her  beauty,  physical, 
intellectual  and  spiritual. 

Thrice  happy  is  that  woman  who  possesses  all  these. 
She  is  a  star  of  the  first  magnitude  in  the  firmament  of 
human  society.  God  never  endowed  a  woman  with  this 
threefold  beauty  without  reserving  a  claim  upon  her 
power.  Such  a  woman  belongs  to  humanity,  She  is  min- 
istrant  to  human  need. 


DUTIES  OF  HOME.  225 

Of  these  three  forms  of  beauty,  the  spiritual  is  of  the 
first  importance,  intellectual  of  the  second,  and  physical  of 
the  third.  Although  no  amount  of  physical  beauty  can 
fully  compensate  for  the  slightest  deficiency  of  the  spirit- 
ual, yet  it  must  be  acknowledged  that  the  lack  of  physical 
beauty  is  never  so  painfully  obvious  as  when  accompanied 
by  a  like  spiritual  deficiency. 

It  is  a  law  established  by  observations  made  on  the 
entire  animal  kingdom,  that  the  worth  of  offspring,  other 
things  being  equal,  is  in  the  ratio  of  the  mother's  beauty. 
It  may  not  be  a  beauty  that  would  stand  before  the  criti- 
cism of  the  world,  but  it  must  be  a  beauty  that  charms  the 
husband. 

In  view  of  these  facts  is  it  not  the  hignest  duty  of 
woman,  a  duty  which  she  owes  to  God  and  to  humanity, 
to  make  herself  at  all  times  as  beautiful  in  her  husband's 
eyes  as  possible  ?  It  is  a  diviner  art  to  maintain  affection 
than  to  awaken  it.  It  cannot  long  be  maintained,  if  the 
advantages  under  which  it  was  awakened  are  withdrawn. 
Your  husband  wooed  and  won  you  in  your  best  attire,  in  an 
atmosphere  surcharged  with  the  bewilderment  of  roses, 
perfume  and  of  song,  amid  the  sweet  intoxication  of  wood- 
land rambles  and  moonlight  poetry.  You  come  to  his 
house,  take  off  the  myrtle  from  your  hair  and  cast  the  rose- 
bud from  your  throat,  and  exchange  the  rustling  per- 
fumed robes  of  love  for  soiled  calico.  Can  you  expect 
anything   but  a    chilling  shock  to  the   affections  of  him 

15 


226  OUR  HOME. 

who  before  had  stood  gazing  upon  you  in  the  moveless 
trance  of  love  ? 

Ladies  need  but  little  advice  of  this  kind  concerning 
their  personal  appearance  when  they  go  into  society.  In- 
deed, it  would  be  far  better  for  them  and  for  the  world  if 
they  would  appear  a  little  less  attractive  in  the  presence  of 
other  husbands,  and  a  little  more  so  in  the  presence  of 
their  own.  Is  it  any  wonder  that  the  husband  grows  cold 
and  indifferent  towards  his  wife  when  he  sees  her  exhaust- 
ing every  resource  of  invention  to  enhance  her  attractive- 
ness in  the  presence  of  other  men,  while  she  appears  con- 
tinually in  his  presence  with  soiled  dress  and  disheveled 
hair?  How  often  we  hear  ladies  making  an  almost  ludi- 
crous attempt  to  revive  the  forgotten  lore  of  their  early 
seminary  culture,  in  the  hope  of  winning  the  admiration  of 
some  brilliant  society  man,  when  their  conversation  with 
their  husbands  never  rises  to  higher  themes  than  the  last 
month's  rent  and  a  new  dress  to  wear  to  church. 

This  is  an  almost  universal  vice.  No  creed  or  social  po- 
sition is  free  from  it.  It  is  daily  committed  alike  by  the 
rich  and  the  poor,  in  ignorance  of  one  of  the  great  laws 
that  govern  human  love. 

We  have  told  the  secret  of  many  a  conjugal  tragedy. 
It  costs  but  little  to  dress  becomingly,  to  put  a  rose-bud 
in  the  hair,  and  she  who  cannot  find  time  to  do  this  may, 
perhaps,  by  and  by  find  time  to  mourn  over  blighted  hopes 
and  buried  love. 


DUTIES  OF  HOME.  227 

Important  as  are  the  duties  that  husband  and  wife  owe 
to  each  other,  no  less  important  are  those  which  they  owe 
to  their  children.  It  is  the  duty  of  parents  to  make  the 
home  of  childhood  pleasant  and  attractive,  for  children  de- 
velop more  perfectly  in  pleasant  than  in  unpleasant  homes. 
We  do  not  mean,  however,  mere  outward  attractiveness. 
It  is  not  essential  that  the  home  should  overlook  some  rich 
and  beautiful  landscape ;  but  that  the  associations  of 
home  should  be  pleasant  and  agreeable  to  the  children ;  so 
that  they  may  not  become  restless  and  desirous  of  leaving  it. 

It  is  the  duty  of  parents  to  make  their  children  love 
them.  Not  that  they  should  compel  love  with  the  authority 
of  the  rod,  for  that  would  be  impossible  ;  but  by  the  wise 
application  of  the  law  that  "  love  begets  love."  No  person 
has  any  right  to  be  the  parent  of  a  child  that  doesn't  love 
him.  Thoughtlessness  and  narrow  views  of  life's  relations 
are  often  fatal  to  filial  love.  Parents  too  often  forget  that 
they  themselves  were  once  children  with  children's  tastes, 
desires,  and  whims. 

It  is  natural  for  children  to  love  their  parents,  not  only 
during  the  years  of  -childhood,  but  through  life.  And  yet 
we  often  see  very  little  filial  love  among  grown  up  children. 
This  is  chiefly  because  the  parents  failed  to  make  a  proper 
concession  to  the  demands  of  childhood.  A  child  cannot 
love  one,  be  it  parent  or  teacher,  who  suppresses  his  child 
nature.  When  once  the  tender  bond  of  sympathy  between 
parent  and  child  has  thus  been  broken  it  can  never  be 


228  OUR  HOME. 

fully  reunited ;  and  when  the  child  becomes  a  man  he  is 
very  apt  to  dislike  his  parents  for  the  needless  pain  they 
have  caused  him,  in  not  governing  him  in  accordance  with 
the  laws  of  his  nature. 

By  sympathy  we  do  not  mean  love.  It  is  possible  for 
love  to  exist  without  sympathy,  or  at  least  without  that 
intimate,  almost  mesmeric  sympathy  that  ought  to  exist 
between  parent  and  child.  Such  parents  usually  love  their 
children  with  much  tenderness,  but  they  somehow  manage 
to  place  a  great  gulf  between  themselves  and  the  objects 
of  their  affection.  They  do  not  understand  that  the  art  of 
rearing  children  is  the  art  of  becoming  "  a  child  again," 
of  going  back  where  the  children  are,  and  so  growing  up 
again  with  them.  Yes,  the  way  to  bring  up  a  child  is  to 
go  back  and  get  him  and  take  him  along  with  you  Up 
to  manhood.  You  should  not  stand  on  the  height  and  call 
him  up,  for  he  would  be  very  apt  to  lose  his  way.  He  is 
not  acquainted  with  the  path.  You  know  it  is  a  narrow 
path,  only  wide  enough  for  one,  and  that  all  who  would 
climb  that  height  must  go  "single  file." 

But  the  obligations  of  parents  and  children  are  recipro- 
cal, and  corresponding  to  the  duties  that  parents  owe  to 
their  children  are  those  that  children  owe  to  their  parents. 
That  children  owe  to  their  parents  a  debt  of  gratitude, 
that  they  owe  them  the  duty  of  obedience,  love  and  respect, 
is  a  proposition  that  requires  no  demonstration,  for  it  meets 
the  approval  of  every  true  child. 


DUTIES  OF  HOME.  229 

Less  recognized  than  the  above  are  the  duties  that  chil- 
dren owe  to  each  other.  The  older  children  owe  to  the 
younger  ones  the  duty  of  tenderness  and  consideration  for 
their  age,  and  should  not  in  their  dealings  with  them  apply 
the  ethics  of  society,  "  Do  to  others  as  others  do  to  you." 
They  should  rather  apply  the  golden  rule  as  it  reads,  and 
patiently  trust  to  a  more  mature  age  to  develop  in  their 
thoughtless  little  brothers  and  sisters  a  deeper  sense  of  ob- 
ligation and  moral  responsibility.  The  older  children  are 
very  apt  to  take  advantage  of  the  younger  ones,  and  often 
use  their  superior  tact  in  pleading  their  own  case  to  the 
parents.  Now  everything  of  this  sort  is  a  violation  of  tne 
duties  that  older  children  owe  to  the  younger. 

But  the  younger  children  owe  certain  duties  to  the  older 
ones.  Children  should  always  be  taught  to  respect  supe- 
rior knowledge  and  experience,  whether  found  in  parent, 
teacher,  or  older  brothers  and  sisters.  Hence  the  younger 
children  owe  to  the  older  ones  the  duty  of  respect  and,  to 
a  certain  extent,  obedience. 

Brothers  owe  to  their  sisters  precisely  the  same  respect 
and  gallantry  that  they  owe  to  women  everywhere.  They 
will  be  rewarded  for  this  in  the  ease  with  which  when  they 
become  older  they  can  enter  the  society  of  ladies,  and  sis- 
ters will  receive  the  same  reward  for  properly  discharging 
at  home  the  duties  that  they  owe  to  every  man. 

The  duties  of  home  then  are  simply  the  aggregate  of  all 
the  obligations  that  grow  out  of  the  family  relation,  and  on 


230  OUR  HOME. 

the  discharge  of  these  depends  the  success  or  failure  of  the 
home  life.  Home  may  be  made  happy  or  wretched,  ac- 
cording to  the  discharge  of  these  obligations.  It  is  not, 
however,  the  great  questions  of  moral  obligation  that  most 
vitally  affect  the  happiness  of  the  home,  but  the  aggregate 
of  all  those  little  obligations  that  love  always  imposes. 
The  crowning  glory  of  the  home  life  is  that  it  draws  its 
supremest  joy  from  the  little  events. 

'*  Our  daily  paths,  with  thorns  or  flowers 

We  can  at  will  bestrew  them ; 
What  bliss  would  gild  the  passing  hours, 

If  we  but  rightly  knew  them! 
The  way  of  life  is  rough  at  best, 

But  briers  yield  the  roses; 
So  that  which  leads  to  joy  and  rest 

The  hardest  path  discloses. 

■  The  weeds  that  oft  we  cast  away, 

Their  simple  beauty  scorning, 
Would  form  a  wreath  of  purest  ray, 

And  prove  the  best  adorning. 
So  in  our  daily  paths,  'twere  well 

To  call  each  gift  a  treasure, 
However  slight,  where  love  can  dwell 

With  life-renewing  pleasure." 


CONTENTMENT  AT  HOME. 


]HE  men  who  are  discontented  at  home,  are,  as 
a  rule,  discontented  everywhere.  There  are, 
indeed,  exceptions  to  this  rule,  for  there  are 
those  who  are  better  than  their  homes,  great 
'  souls  that  have  sprung  up  out  of  vicious 
homes  where  intemperance  and  still  darker 
vices  have  shrouded  their  early  years  in  pain- 
ful memories.  In  such  homes  those  noble 
souls  who,  from  some  favorable  combination 
of  circumstances,  have  risen  above  their  sur- 
roundings, may  well  feel  discontented.  But 
even  in  these  cases  we  may  believe  that  there 
is  still  that  which  justifies  something  of  the 
spirit  of  content.  They  are  discontented  not 
necessarily  with  the  identity  of  the  home 
itself,  but  with  its  condition,  and  if  they 
were  to  surround  themselves  with  the  influ- 
ences of  an  ideal  home  they  would  in  most 
cases  retain  the  identity  of  the  old.  The 
new  house  would  rise  on  the  foundation  of  the  old.  Like 
the  boy's  jack  knife  that  required  a  new  blade  and  a  new 


389  OUR  HOME. 

handle,  and  that  when  these  were  supplied  was  to  him  the 
old  knife  still ;  so  many  objects  seem  to  have  a  subtle 
spirit  independent  of  their  material  structure,  but  depend- 
ing solely  on  associations  that  constitute  to  us  their 
identity.  With  this  spiritual  identity  of  our  home  we  may 
be,  and  ought  to  be,  content.  If  the  influence  of  our  home 
be  evil,  if  its  atmosphere  be  injurious,  then  we  should 
spend  our  lives  in  making  it  better,  and  in  purifying  its 
atmosphere.  In  this  noblest  of  all  forms  of  human  labor 
we  should  find  contentment.  Contentment  is  simply  a 
willingness  to  be  happy.  Almost  any  sphere  or  condition 
of  life  furnishes  the  necessary  material  for  happiness  if  we 
will  only  appropriate  it  in  the  spirit  of  contentment.  It  is 
questionable  if  there  is  any  outward  condition  of  human 
life  in  which  it  does  not  lie  within  one's  power  to  be  con- 
tent. Our  desires  feed  upon  their  own  gratification.  One 
is  always  and  necessarily  contented  at  the  moment  of  the 
first  gratification.  It  is  only  when  a  desire  has  been  unlaw- 
fully gratified  that  the  gratification  fails  to  bring  satisfac- 
tion and  content.  Hence  discontent  is  subjective  rather 
than  objective.  Now  there  are  no  pain  and  sorrow  like 
subjective  pains  and  sorrows ;  those  which  the  mind  experi- 
ences within  its  own  dominion,  and  to  which  it  can  assign 
no  adequate  cause.  In  such  cases  the  mind  itself  cannot 
see  why  it  should  feel  discontent.  Such  suffering  of  the 
mind  is  analogous  to  nervousness  in  the  body.  How  often 
we  hear  it  said  of  sensitive  and  complaining  women,  "  noth- 


CONTENTMENT  AT  HOME.  233 

ing  ails  her,  she  's  only  nervous."  We  do  not  stop  to  con- 
sider that  nervousness  is  the  most  absolutely  real  of  all 
diseases ;  it  is  the  reality  of  the  unreal,  and  the  unreality 
of  the  real.  With  healthy  nerve  and  an  unvitiated  imagi- 
nation we  may  render  real,  or  divest  of  reality,  whatever 
we  choose.  But  can  the  victim  of  delirium  tremens — can 
the  nervous  patient  render  unreal  the  disease  which  he 
fancies  is  preying  at  his  vitals?  or  can  he  render  real  the 
fact  that  his  imagination  is  disordered  ?  u  nothing  ails  him !  " 
There  is  nothing  so  absolutely  real  as  a  delusion.  Nervous- 
ness is  the  only  real  disease.  In  like  manner  the  only  real 
sorrow  is  subjective  sorrow,  that  sorrow  which  the  suffer- 
ing mind  itself  cannot  account  for.  The  great  sorrows  of 
human  experience  arise  from  this  inner  source. 

They  consist  in  a  brooding  discontent,  a  stubborn  refusal 
of  the  mind  to  respond  in  a  satisfactory  manner  to  any  ex- 
ternal stimulant.  The  world  holds  up  to  our  vision  many 
illustrious  examples  of  human  sorrow  and  suffering, — suf- 
fering from  outward  conditions  and  circumstances,  and, 
perhaps,  the  most  noted  of  these  is  that  almost  typical  char- 
acter, Job.  But  the  illustrious  examples  of  that  other  sor- 
row, the  world  can  never  see,  for  it  is  the  sorrow  of  mid- 
night and  silence.  It  is  a  sorrow  which  cannot  be  shared, 
and  one  which  the  world  will  not  recognize.  We  can, 
however,  see  its  fruits,  for  it  sometimes  bears  the  divinest 
fruit,  but,  as  with  the  tree  of  evil  everywhere,  the  tree 
which  bore  it  must  first  be  cut  and  burned.     'Tis  from  the 


234  OUR  HOME. 

ashes  of  the  tree  of  evil  that  fruit  divine  appears.  He 
who  conquers  this  subjective  sorrow  and  comes  trium- 
phantly out  of  the  dark  forest  of  inward  discontent  into 
the  sweet  light  of  peace  and  contentment,  is  a  conqueror 
in  the  grandest  and  sublimest  sense  of  the  word,  and  on 
his  brow  there  rests  forevermore  a  crown  of  victory. 

Discontent,  then,  is  in  almost  every  case  the  result  of 
this  subjective  mental  action,  a  continual  yearning  for 
something  more  than  the  present  experience.  That  is  the 
most  awful  form  of  human  disease  in  which  the  cognizable 
objects  and  the  cognizing  faculties  are  out  of  gear.  What 
then  is  the  remedy  for  discontent?  We  have  said  that 
desires  feed  upon  their  own  gratification,  and  the  kind  of 
food  determines  the  kind  of  desires.  An  unlawful  gratifi- 
cation produces  in  its  turn  another  unlawful  desire.  Now, 
since  there  is  no  natural  object  or  circumstance  that  can 
respond  to  an  unlawful  desire,  it  follows  that  in  the  home 
where  objects  and  circumstances  are  natural,  the  unlawful 
desire  must  remain  ungratified,  and  hence  the  source  of 
yearning  and  discontent  must  also  remain,  till  unlawful 
gratification  has  been  obtained  elsewhere. 

A  pertinent  illustration  of  this  view  of  the  subject  may 
be  seen  in  the  behavior  of  a  slightly  depraved  appetite, 
and  among  a  civilized  people  this  is  the  condition  of  al- 
most every  one's  appetite.  Every  one  knows  that  when 
he  is  hungry  a  simple  piece  of  dry  bread  tastes  good  and 
satisfies  the  hunger ;   but  let  him  cover  it  with  highly  sea- 


CONTENTMENT  AT  HOME.  235 

soned  sauce,  and  after  partaking  of  it  attempt  to  go  back 
to  the  dry  bread,  he  will  find  that  it  tastes  insipid  and 
does  not  satisfy  him.  If,  however,  he  had  taken  a  juicy 
pear  instead  of  the  spicy  sauce,  he  could  have  returned  to 
the  dry  bread  with  satisfaction.  Here  then  lies  a  princi- 
ple. The  dry  bread  and  the  pear  both  sustain  a  normal 
relation  to  our  appetites,  and  gratify  a  lawful  desire,  but 
not  so  with  the  sauce;  for  spices  and  artificial  flavors 
were  never  meant  to  satisfy  a  healthy  appetite.  There  is 
nothing  in  a  healthy  appetite  that  corresponds  to  them. 
The  dry  bread  and  the  pear,  feeding  nothing  but  a  healthy 
and  lawful  desire,  in  their  turn  give  rise  to  a  healthy  and 
lawful  desire ;  and  this,  dry  bread  can  satisfy.  But  the 
sauce  satisfying  an  unnatural,  and  hence  unlawful,  appe- 
tite, gives  rise  to  nothing  but  unhealthy  and  unlawful  de- 
sires, and  these  the  dry  bread  cannot  satisfy.  Apply  the 
principle  involved  in  this  illustration,  and  the  solution 
which  it  suggests  to  the  higher  faculties  of  the  mind,  and 
you  have  the  whole  philosophy  of  discontent.  But,  says 
one,  shall  we  follow  out  this  doctrine  to  its  full  extent,  and 
seek  to  awaken  no  desire  which  our  surrounding  circum- 
stances cannot  gratify  ?  If  discontent  consists  simply  in 
ungratified  desires,  then  it  would  be  reasonable  to  suppress 
all  desires  that  we  cannot  gratify.  But  would  not  this  be 
fatal  to  all  progress  ?  Would  it  not  tend  to  keep  us  for- 
ever on  the  dead  level  of  the  present  ?  There  is  an  infi- 
nite difference  between  the  absolute  inability  to  gratify  a 


236  OUR  HOME. 

desire,  and  the  mere  inability  to  gratify  it  immediately. 
The  lion  cannot  gratify  at  once  his  desire  for  food,  but  the 
suspension  of  the  gratification  does  not  result  in  discon- 
tent. He,  perhaps,  knows  that  his  diligent  search  will 
make  the  gratification  still  keener  when  it  comes.  So  the 
young  man  who  desires  to  be  great  and  useful  need  not 
crush  that  desire  simply  because  he  is  unable  to  gratify  it 
at  once.  His  highest  delight  may  spring  from  his  contem- 
plation of  its  final  gratification.  There  is  a  continual  grat- 
ification simply  in  the  prospect  of  ultimate  gratification. 

But  if  one  has  a  desire  that  it  is  absolutely  impossible 
for  him  to  gratify,  then  the  quicker  it  is  crushed,  the  better. 
If  a  cripple  should  become  ambitious  to  be  an  acrobat, 
then  the  harboring  of  that  ambition  could  lead  to  nothing 
but  discontent.  Then  crush  all  desires  that  cannot,  in  the 
nature  of  things,  be  satisfied.  Crush  all  unlawful  desires, 
and  seek  to  gratify  all  lawful  ones,  and  contentment  will 
be  the  necessary  result. 

"  Sweet  are  the  thoughts  that  savor  of  content— 

The  quiet  mind  is  richer  than  a  crown. 
Sweet  are  the  nights  in  careless  slumber  spent, 

The  poor  estate  scorns  fortune's  angry  frown; 
Such  sweet  content,  such  minds,  such  sleep,  such  bliss, 

Beggars  enjoy,  when  princes  oft  do  miss; 

"  The  homely  house  that  harbors  quiet  rest, 

The  cottage  that  affords  no  pride  or  care, 
The  mien  that  'grees  with  country  music  best, 

The  sweet  consort  of  mirth  and  music's  fare, 
Obscured  life  sets  down  a  type  of  bliss : — 

A  mind  content  both  crown  and  kingdom  is." 


VISITING. 


j  O  long  as  man  remains  a  social  being,  visiting 
will  constitute  a  part  of  his  avocations.  Man 
is  a  fragment  of  being,  as  each  star  is  a  frag- 
ment of  the  firmanent.  And  as  the  stars  are 
never  at  rest;  as  they  revolve  around  each 
other ;  as  the  smaller  ones  seem  to  select  the 
larger  ones  as  centers  whose  superior  attrac- 
tion guides  and  maps  out  their  path, — so  men 
arrange  themselves  in  society  in  accordance 
with  a  similar  law. 

There  are  suns  and  planets  and  asteroids  in 
human  society,  and  these  take  their  proper 
places  by  an  eternal  law  of  human  affinity. 
Man  is,  in  his  individuality,  an  imperfectly  adapted  be- 
ing. The  divine  declaration,  "  It  is  not  good  for  man  to  be 
alone,"  long  before  it  was  written  by  human  pen  was  writ- 
ten in  the  nature  of  man  by  virtue  of  this  law,  that  man  is 
but  fragmentary. 

Hence  the  necessity  and  philosophy  of  society  and  of  the 
custom  of  visiting.  A  home  without  visitors  is  not  a  per- 
fect home,  inasmuch  as  the  members  of  that  home  cannot 


238  OUR  HOME. 

become  perfect,  but  must  forever  remain  undeveloped  un- 
less they  come  in  contact  with  the  great  world.  We  have 
all  seen  such  homes,  where  the  frozen  pride  of  wealth  con- 
geals the  fountains  of  worth  and  usefulness.  There  are 
certain  families  that  never  visit ;  but  the  vital  instincts  of 
society  soon  eliminate  them,  as  a  sliver  or  any  foreign  sub- 
stance is  eliminated  from  the  flesh. 

In  such  cases  Nature  disconnects  the  foreign  substance 
from  all  the  vital  processes  and  builds  around  it  a  hard  case, 
which  effectually  shuts  it  off  from  all  relation  with  the  vital 
organism,  as  it  were  in  a  prison.  Society  has  the  same 
instincts,  and  when  it  discovers  in  itself  a  foreign  substance 
in  the  form  of  a  family  destitute  of  fellow  sympathy,  a  fam- 
ily who  do  not  visit  nor  receive  visitors,  it  rapidly  cuts  off 
all  vital  connection  with  them  and  encloses  them  within  the 
prison  walls  of  their  own  reserve.  With  what  pitying  con- 
tempt society  looks  upon  such  a  family!  How  even  the 
children  point  to  the  home  as  the  dwelling  of  some  mon- 
strosity, and  learn  to  taunt  the  inmates  as  the  parrot  learns 
to  taunt  the  barn  fowl.  We  pity  the  members  of  such  a 
family.  We  have  often  wondered  what  the  source  of  their 
enjoyment  can  be.  That  same  coldness  and  lack  of  sym- 
pathy which  makes  them  shun  the  world,  most  certainly 
will  make  them  cold  and  distant  in  one  another's  society. 

Such  homes  are  usually  the  abodes  of  gilded  misery.  It 
is  a  curious  fact  that  these  families  soon  become  extinct. 
They  live  but  a  few  generations  at  best,  become  sickly  and 


VISITING.  239 

vicious,  and  finally  die  out,  and  leave  the  world  no  better 
and,  perhaps,  no  worse. 

There  is  a  lesson  in  this  fact,  not  only  a  moral  lesson, 
but  a  lesson  in  science  as  well.  There  is  no  subject  that 
men  have  studied  so  little  as  the  science  of  human  nature ; 
although  it  is  the  grandest  subject  that  can  engross  the 
human  intellect.  They  have,  however,  developed  a  few 
grand  results,  and  one  of  them  is  the  law  that  governs  the 
phenomenon  we  have  just  referred  to.  The  discovery  was 
made,  however,  not  by  a  direct  study  of  human  nature, 
but  chiefly  by  observation  on  the  lower  octaves  in  life's 
scale.  This  law  is  known  as  the  law  of  the  "survival  of  the 
fittest."  It  teaches  that  when  a  being  or  a  faculty  ceases 
to  act  in  a  manner  consistent  with  the  general  good  it  is 
destroyed  by  a  power  of  natural  selection. 

Nature  does  this  in  self  defense.  When  a  being  violates 
the  laws  of  his  nature  he  is  destroyed  if  he  persists  in  the 
violation.  When  he  persists  in  the  violation  of  his  moral 
nature  he  dies  as  a  moral  being,  although  he  may  still  sur- 
vive as  a  physical  and  intellectual  being.  If  he  violates 
his  intellectual  nature  he  dies  as  an  intellectual  being.  If 
his  social  nature,  then  he  dies  as  a  social  being.  But  these 
calamities  are  not  confined  to  the  individual  alone.  The 
organic  weakness  resulting  from  his  violation  is  transmitted 
to  his  children,  who  transmit  to  their  offspring  in  still 
greater  degree  the  iniquity  of  the  fathers,  till  finally  the 
family  becomes  too  weak  to  perpetuate  itself. 


240  OUR  HOME. 

Now  the  ability  to  perpetuate  the  species  is  more  vitally 
related  to  the  social  nature  than  to  the  intellectual  or  the 
moral ;  and  families  that  violate  their  social  nature,  as  do 
those  we  are  considering,  are  striking  at  the  tap  root  of 
their  family  life. 

Such  families  seldom  do  the  world  much  injury,  because 
society,  with  the  aid  of  nature,  rids  itself  of  the  pest  with 
the  greatest  economy  of  effort  and  the  least  expenditure  of 
its  forces.  Since  man  is  but  a  fragment  he  requires  the 
presence  of  his  supplementary  fragments  to  develop  his 
possibilities. 

As  woman  is  essential  to  man  and  man  to  woman  in 
order  to  call  out  and  develop  the  latent  possibilities  in 
each,  so  every  human  being,  in  order  to  call  forth  his  high- 
est possibilities,  must  first  be  wedded  to  his  supplement 
humanity.  He  must  lose  his  identity  in  the  great  current 
of  human  want  before  he  can  find  it  again  in  a  larger  and 
grander  sense. 

The  muscle  grows  strong  most  rapidly  when  it  wastes 
most  rapidly.  The  magnet  grows  powerful  by  imparting 
its  magnetic  properties  to  iron  and  steel.  The  teacher 
grows  wise  by  imparting  wisdom.  The  rose  fills  all  the  air 
with  its  sweet  gift  of  incense,  and  through  the  little  rail- 
way tunnels  fly  the  trains  that  bear  from  nature's  labora- 
tory the  precious  freight  that  still  replenishes  the  ever 
wasting  stream. 

Now  social  intercourse  is  simply  a  process  of  imparting 


VISITING.  241 

to  others  a  portion  of  ourselves.  When  the  rose  begins  to 
hoard  its  fragrance,  it  dies.  So  when  man  would  hoard 
his  influence  and  wrap  around  him  the  mantle  of  solitude, 
he  is  fading  away  in  the  noblest  attributes  of  his  being. 

There  is  a  possible  interpretation  of  the  above  that  we 
would  not  wish  to  submit  to  the  test  of  history.  It  is  that 
the  love  of  solitude  is  an  illegitimate  love.  This  inter- 
pretation meets  its  rebuke  in  the  lives  of  poets  and  philoso- 
phers. The  world's  grandest  characters  have  been  lovers 
of  solitude.  There  is  something  pathetically  beautiful  in 
the  yearning  which  poets  have  always  felt  for  the  sweet 
breath  of  nature  untainted  by  the  smoke  and  noxious 
vapors  of  the  city.  There  is  both  a  legitimate  and  an 
illegitimate  love  of  solitude. 

Jesus  loved  solitude  as  probably  no  other  being  ever  did. 
The  honey  bee  loves  solitude,  and  loves  it  for  the  same  rea- 
son that  Jesus  and  the  poets  love  it,  because  guided  by  a 
heavenly  instinct  they  know  that  solitude  alone  can  minis- 
ter to  the  throng,  and  they  are  its  ministers  divinely  elect. 
The  bee  must  leave  the  merry  swarm  and  seek  the  silent 
solitude  where  blush  in  unconscious  beauty  the  wild  rose 
and  the  lily.  So  Jesus,  although  his  heart  was  with  the 
dying  throng,  still  sought  the  lonely  heights,  because  it  was 
there  alone  from  the  divine  flower  of  solitude  that  he  could 
extract  the  honey  for  the  "healing  of  the  nations."  Poets 
love  solitude,  not  from  selfishness.  They  desire  it  as  a 
sick  man  desires  medicine.     It   ministers  to  the  highest 

16 


242  OUR  HOME. 

necessities  of  their  being.  They  love  to  go  into  solitude, 
not  because  their  hearts  do  not  beat  with  the  great  multi- 
tude, but  because  they  can  get  nearer  to  nature's  heart 
when  removed  from  the  roaring  factory  and  the  rushing 
train,  and  with  purer  soul  receive  her  gracious  benediction. 
All  then  should  love  solitude,  but  as  the  bee  loves  it, 
because  they  can  find  something  there  fresh  from  God  to 
bring  to  the  hive  of  humanity. 

The  poet  and  the  philosopher  can  minister  to  the  world 
while  they  remain  in  solitude;  but  not  so  with  the  "com- 
mon people  " ;  the  toiling  men  and  women  without  genius 
must  find  their  field  of  labor  in  the  social  world.  Then  let 
the  gates  of  cottage  and  palace  be  flung  open  to  the  tides 
of  humanity.  Let  us  entertertain  and  be  entertained. 
Let  us  make  it  a  part  of  our  life  work  to  give  ourselves  to 
others,  and  in  our  turn  derive  from  society  what  must 
come  from  that  source,  if  it  ever  comes  to  us  at  all. 

Society  does  not  consist  in  physical  proximity.  It  does 
not  consist  in  vying  with  one  another  in  the  display  of  fine 
dwellings  and  costly  tables.  Social  intercourse,  to  be  right 
and  profitable,  must  contain  its  own  excuse.  It  must  be 
the  outgrowth  of  an  instinctive  impulse  to  mingle  within 
the  sphere  of  mutual  interest,  in  spiritual  as  well  as  physi- 
cal proximity. 

We  do  not  wish  to  recommend  that  practice  so  prevalent 
among  certain  classes,  of  gadding  from  house  to  house  for 
the  purpose  of  retailing  the  morning  news.     This  is  not 


VISITING.  243 

what  we  mean  by  social  intercourse.  Nor  would  we  recom- 
mend the  "  formal  call,"  where  each  family  keeps  a  record 
and  returns  a  call  as  it  would  pay  for  a  barrel  of  flour. 
We  have  no  faith  in  the  book-keeping  of  calls.  Perhaps 
there  is  no  other  relation  of  life  that  fosters  so  much  of  de- 
ception and  falsehood  as  the  system  of  fashionable  calling. 

Mrs.  A.  calls  upon  Mrs.  B.,  who  has  just  settled  in  the 
neighborhood,  because  if  she  were  not  to  do  so,  Mrs.  B. 
would  think  that  Mrs.  A.  was  not  acquainted  with  the 
ways  of  society.  Mrs.  B.  is,  of  course,  delighted  to  see 
Mrs.  A.,  notwithstanding  she  threw  up  her  hands  in  hor- 
ror when  the  door  bell  rang.  When  Mrs.  A.  departs  amid 
the  mournful  protests  of  Mrs.  B.,  Mrs.  B.  has  too  much 
confidence  in  Mrs.  A.'s  "society  education  "  to  have  any 
fears  that  she  will  heed  the  earnest  and  heartfelt  (?)  entreaty 
to  "  call  again  "  and  not  to  be  "  so  formal." 

Such  calls  involve  the  commercial  instincts  of  our  na- 
ture, for  they  are  regarded  as  merchandise  and  subject  to 
the  laws  of  debit  and  credit.  They  do  not  appeal  to  the 
social  faculty  at  all,  and  hence  have  no  tendency  in  the 
direction  of  its  cultivation,  but  on  the  other  hand  they 
weaken  it,  for  they  are  in  almost  every  case  regarded  as 
painful  duties,  and  it  is  a  law  of  our  being  that  the  painful 
or  disagreeable  action  of  any  function,  whether  physical  or 
mental,  has  a  direct  tendency  to  weaken  the  function  in- 
volved. 

Then,  as  the  first  and  essential  condition  to  the  culti- 


244  OUR  HOME. 

tivation  of  the  social  faculty,  let  the  call  be  divested  of  all 
its  formalty.  Neighboring  parents  should  learn  a  lesson 
from  their  own  children,  who  play  in  adjoining  yards  and 
seek  each  other's  presence  often  for  •  the  sake  of  that  pres- 
ence alone.  Not  in  their  "beauty's  best  attire"  nor  at 
the  feast  where  pride  sits  queen,  but  in  the  mood  and 
dress  of  every  day.  Let  them  meet  and  spend  the  even- 
ing around  each  other's  hearthstone,  nor  recognize  any 
hour  as  fashionable  or  unfashionable,  but  "  drop  in  "  with 
that  simplicity  and  informality  that  calls  forth  the  excla- 
mation of  surprise  which  no  actor's  skill  can  feign. 

We  cannot  better  close  this  chapter  than  by  quoting  the 
words  of  that  almost  marvelous  student  of  human  nature, 
Harriet  Beecher  Stowe. 

"  There  would  be  a  great  deal  more  obedience  to  the 
apostolic  injunction,  8  be  not  forgetful  to  entertain  stran- 
gers,' if  it  once  could  be  clearly  got  into  the  heads  of  well 
intending  people  what  it  is  that  strangers  want.  What 
do  you  want  when  away  from  home  in  a  strange  city  ?  Is 
it  not  the  warmth  of  the  home  fireside  and  the  sight  of 
people  that  you  know  care  for  you  ?  Is  it  not  the  blessed 
privilege  of  speaking  and  acting  yourself  out  unconstrain- 
edly  among  those  who  you  know  understand  you  ?  And 
had  you  not  rather  dine  with  an  old  friend  on  simple  cold 
mutton  offered  with  a  warm  heart,  than  go  to  a  splendid 
ceremonious  dinner  party  among  people  who  don't  care  a 
rush  for  you  ?     Well,  then,  set  it  down  in  your  book  that 


VISITING.  245 

other  people  are  like  you,  and  that  the  art  of  entertaining 
is  the  art  of  really  caring  for  people.  If  you  have  a  warm 
heart,  congenial  tastes,  and  a  real  interest  in  your  stranger, 
don't  fear  to  invite  him  .though  you  have  no  best  dinner 
set  and  your  existing  plates  are  sadly  chipped  at  the 
edges,  and  even  though  there  be  a  handle  broken  off  from 
the  side  of  your  vegetable  dish.  Set  it  down  in  your  be- 
lief that  you  can  give  something  better  than  a  dinner, 
however  good, — you  can  give  a  part  of  yourself.  You  can 
give  love,  good  will,  and  sympathy,  of  which  there  has 
perhaps  been  quite  as  much  over  cracked  plates  and  re- 
stricted table  furniture  as  over  Sevres  china  and  silver." 

"  Blest  be  that  spot  where  cheerful  guests  retire 
To  pause  from  toil,  aud  trim  their  evening  fire; 
Blest  that  abode,  where  want  and  pain  repair, 
And  every  stranger  finds  a  ready  chair: 
Blest  be  those  feasts  with  simple  plenty  crown  'd, 
Where  all  the  ruddy  family  around 
Laugh  at  the  jest  or  pranks,  that  never  fail, 
Or  sigh  with  pity  at  some  mournful  tale, 
Or  press  the  bashful  stranger  to  his  food, 
And  learn  the  luxury  of  doing  good." 


UNSELFISHNESS  AT  HOME. 


jN  accordance  with  an  eternal  law,  selfishness 
defeats  its  own  ends.  The  selfish  man,  from 
the  very  nature  of  selfishness,  declares  war 
against  the  universe,  and  in  that  unequal 
fight  is  sure  to  fall.  The  only  way  we  can 
get  God  on  our  side  is  to  enlist  in  his  army. 
The  conditions  of  our  own  happiness  are 
so  blended  and  interwoven  with  the  condi- 
tions of  other's  happiness,  that  we  cannot  successfully  seek 
our  own  highest  interest  while  we  are  unmindful  of  the 
welfare  of  others.  There  is  but  one  rational  and  success- 
ful way  in  which  a  man  may  work  for  himself,  and  that  is 
by  forgetting  self  in  his  desire  for  the  well-being  of  others. 
Human  society  is  a  vast  machine  in  which  every  man  is  a 
wheel,  but  the  wheels  of  a  machine  never  move  independ- 
ently. No  matter  how  small  and  apparently  insignificant 
they  may  be,  they  each  perform  an  essential  office,  and 
their  value  is  represented  in  the  product  of  the  great 
machine. 

Man  is  a  compound  of  function  or  faculties,  and  is  so 
constituted  that  the  action  of  each  produces  pleasure  and 


UNSELFISHNESS  AT  HOME.  247 

only  pleasure.  The  sum  total  of  man's  happiness,  then, 
depends  on  the  number  of  faculties  that  he  brings  into 
healthy  and  normal  exercise. 

One  of  these  faculties  is  conscience,  that  voice  in  the 
soul  which  bids  us  do  right,  and  do  unto  others  as  we 
would  have  them  do  unto  us,  a  duty  that  cannot  be  per- 
formed from  selfish  motives.  But  unless  this  duty  be  per- 
formed, we  are  deprived  of  that  exquisite  pleasure  which 
comes  from  the  approval  of  conscience. 

Another  of  our  faculties  is  benevolence,  whose  legitimate 
function  is  to  prompt  us  to  love  our  neighbor  as  ourselves, 
the  very  essence  of  unselfishness.  But  if  we  through 
selfishness  refuse  to  fulfill  this  function,  we  must  forego 
that  pure  and  exalted  pleasure  of  which  it  has  been  de- 
clared u  it  is  more  blessed  to  give  than  to  receive."  Man 
is  a  social  being,  and  from  his  several  social  faculties  de- 
rives by  far  the  greatest  portion  of  his  happiness ;  but  only 
as  he  observes  the  golden  rule.  For  society  will  not  be 
cheated.  Its  system  of  book-keeping  is  perfect,  and  he 
who  expects  to  receive  from  society  more  than  he  is  will- 
ing to  give  in  return,  will  be  sadly  disappointed. 

And  so  it  is  that  all  those  faculties  which  relate  men  to 
their  fellow  men  can  yield  us  no  pleasure  so  long  as  we 
are  selfish.  By  selfishness  we  are  cut  off  from  the  pleasures 
arising  from  the  action  of  a  large  number  of  the  most  im- 
portant faculties  of  the  mind.  To  use  a  paradox,  the  only 
rational  and  consistent  selfishness  is  that  of  unselfishness. 


248  OUR  HOME. 

If  we  desire  our  own  highest  pleasure  we  cannot  obtain 
it  till  we  forget  our  object. 

If  this  be  true  with  reference  to  the  great  world,  how 
much  truer  is  it  with  reference  to  the  little  world,  the 
home.  Perhaps  the  truest  picture  of  total  depravity  which 
the  mind  can  paint  is  that  of  a  home  where  selfishness 
reigns. 

Selfishness  is  fatal  to  the  very  existence  of  home. 
Home  may  be  defined  as  an  isolated  portion  of  society, 
bound  together  by  a  stronger  degree  of  love  than  exists 
between  the  different  members  of  the  human  family  in 
general.  Home  and  selfishness  are  nearly  opposite  in 
their  meaning,  and  cannot  exist  together  any  more  than 
love  and  hate. 

Selfishness,  then,  is  fatal  to  love ;  and  since  love  is  the 
basis  of  home,  it  follows  that  selfishness  is  the  great  de- 
stroyer of  home. 

As  in  the  outward  world,  he  who  falls  in  love  with  him- 
self always  has  the  field  clear,  no  rivals  ever  molesting  him ; 
so  in  the  home,  he  who  makes  his  own  happiness  paramount, 
to  that  same  extent  severs  his  connection  with  the  family, 
and  becomes,  in  a  certain  sense,  an  outcast.  The  sister, 
perceiving  the  brother's  selfishness,  will  seek  other  com- 
panions, and  thus  a  coldness  and  indifference  springs  up 
between  brother  and  sister. 

There  are  many  arguments  in  favor  of  unselfishness,  but 
we  have  made  prominent  the  least  and  lowest.     We  have, 


UNSELFISHNESS  AT  HOME.  249 

however,  had  a  purpose  in  this.  It  is  to  the  selfish  we 
would  speak.  The  unselfish  require  no  advice  or  exhorta- 
tion, and  from  the  very  nature  of  selfishness  it  cannot  be 
moved  by  any  but  a  selfish  argument. 

Why  is  that  little  street  boy  so  dwarfed  in  his  mental  and 
moral  nature  ?  Why  is  it  usually  so  difficult  to  develop 
one  of  that  class  and  make  him  a  noble  and  powerful  man  ? 
Simply  because  the  selfishness  in  that  wretched  home 
whence  he  came  has  arrested  his  development,  so  that  he  can 
never  be  anything  but  a  child.  He  can  seldom  be  trusted, 
because  the  early  selfishness  at  home,  engendered  by  misery 
and  want,  it  may  be,  has  left  its  demon  cunning  in  his  mind. 

It  is  a  fact  with  which  all  are  familiar,  that  the  character 
is  written  in  the  face.  If  we  cannot  read  it,  it  is  not 
because  it  is  not  written  there,  but  because  of  our  obtuse- 
ness.  Yet  there  are  few  so  obtuse  that  they  cannot  distin- 
guish between  selfishness  and  generosity.  Who  has  not 
noticed  the  narrow,  pinched,  and  indescribably  repulsive 
countenance  of  the  miser?  Who  has  not  contrasted  it 
with  the  open,  frank,  and  attractive  countenance  of  the 
philanthropist  ? 

It  seems  as  if  the  very  selfishness  of  the  world  should 
make  us  unselfish  at  home.  Think  of  the  pain  and  suffer- 
ing that  is  born  of  selfishness !  As  you  gather  round  the 
board  of  plenty  for  the  evening  repast,  or  round  the  roar- 
ing fire  while  the  storm  sends  its  fitful  but  harmless  gusts 
against  the  windows,  think  of  the  pale,  sad  faces  that  are 


250  OUR  HOME. 

pressing  against  the  panes  of  dingy  hovels,  gazing  into  the 
starless  night  in  the  imploring  anguish  of  hunger  and  cold 
and  want.  How,  with  this  sad  thought  in  mind,  can  little 
brothers  and  sisters  be  selfish  at  home  ?  How  can  they 
quarrel,  as  they  sometimes  do,  over  an  apple  or  a  pear, 
when  they  remember  that  there  are  thousands  who  would 
gladly  gather  up  the  leavings  that  they  trample  under 
their  feet,  and  devour  them  with  the  eagerness  of  a  starv- 
ing dog? 

The  young  man  who  is  selfish  at  home,  who  is  eager  to 
get  the  largest  and  fairest  apple,  and  does  not  seek  to 
share  it  with  sister  or  brother,  surely  will  not  share  it  with 
wife  and  children,  when  he  becomes  the  owner  of  a  home. 
Let  young  ladies  beware  of  those  young  men  who  are  self- 
ish at  home  ;  for  if  they  do  not  manifest  their  selfishness 
in  the  society  of  ladies,  it  is  only  from  policy,  or  lack  of 
opportunity. 

It  is  a  fact  which  mathematics  alone  cannot  explain,  that 
the  more  affection  we  leave  at  home  the  more  we  carry 
with  us. 

There  is  something  in  the  nature  of  selfishness,  whether 
at  home  or  in  society,  that  makes  it  peculiarly  repugnant 
to  us,  and  leads  us  instinctively  to  brand  it  as  among  the 
most  ignoble  of  vices.  There  is  hardly  another  vice  that 
has  not  some  shadow  of  a  redeeming  feature.  We  pity  the 
drunkard,  perhaps  because  his  almost  proverbial  generosity 
appeals   to   our   sympathies.     He    cannot,   from  the  very 


UNSELFISHNESS  AT  HOME.  251 

nature  of  his  sin,  be  a  narrow,  miserly  soul.  Even  robbers 
and  murderers  may  have  some  attractive  qualities.  It 
costs  us  an  effort  not  to  admire  such  characters  as  Light- 
foot  and  Thunderbolt,  who  spent  their  lives  in  robbing  the 
rich  that  they  might  give  to  the  poor.  Of  course  all  such 
crimes  are  heinous  in  the  sight  of  God,  and  should  be  in 
the  sight  of  man,  but  they  almost  always  are  accompanied 
by  some  virtues,  and  as  we  do  not  always  stop  to  separate 
the  crimes  from  the  attending  virtues,  we  sometimes  do  not 
hate  them  as  we  ought. 

But  this  difficulty  does  not  exist  in  the  case  of  selfish- 
ness, for  it  has  no  redeeming  features.  It  stands  alone  in 
its  ignominy,  a  black  picture  on  a  background  of  infinite 
hateful  ness. 

"  Oh,  if  the  selfish  knew  how  much  they  lost, 
What  would  they  not  endeavor  and  endure 
To  imitate,  as  far  as  in  them  lay, 
Him  who  his  wisdom  and  his  power  employs 
In  making  others  happy." 


PATIENCE. 


)H . 


ATIENCE  has  been  defined  as  "  the  courage 
of  virtue,"  and  the  definition  seems  to  us  pe- 
culiarly appropriate,  for  it  is  that  quality  of 
the  soul  that  bids  it  stand  firm  at  the  post  of 
cAluty  where  God  has  placed  it,  undaunted 
by  the  assaults  of  vice.     It  is  that  which 
closes  the  lips  against  all  complaining,  and 
folds  its  wings  over  a  wounded  heart  and 
waits. 

It  is  a  noble  thing  to  act,  but  it  is  a  no- 
bler thing  to  wait,  for  to  act  is  the  soul's 
most  natural  tendency.  It  is  its  first  and 
simplest  desire.  The  child  takes  no  account 
of  time  or  indirect  motion  in  the  gratifica- 
tion of  its  wish. 

Place  a  brute  within  a  few  feet  of  food, 
but  make  the  only  possible  means  of  reach- 
ing it  indirect;   make  it  necessary  that  he 
should  first  go  back  from  the  food,  perhaps 
%>  out  of  sight  of  it,  for  a  moment,  and  then 

by  a  circuitous  route  come  around  to  it.     Under  these  con- 
ditions the  brute  will  starve  in  sight  of  the  food.     This 


PATIENCE.  253 

would  not  be  merely  an  experiment  upon  the  brute's  intel- 
lect; it  would  involve  this  principle  of  patience.  The 
impatience  of  the  brute  in  this  case  would  be  due  to  the 
fact  that  he  had  not  passed  that  stage  in  which  all  gratifi- 
cation is  sought  by  direct  and  uninterrupted  action.  This 
brute  impatience  cannot  go  from  the  object  of  its  desire, 
even  when  intellect  declares  such  an  act  necessary.  It  is 
quite  essential  in  this  experiment,  however,  that  we  select 
the  right  kind  of  brute,  for  there  are  brutes  which  are  en- 
dowed with  a  wonderful  degree  of  patience.  We  may  forci- 
bly illustrate  from  the  brute  kingdom  both  patience  and 
impatience.  Those  which  are  endowed  with  patience  are 
not  usually  those  which  are  most  intelligent.  This  shows 
that  the  phenomenon  in  the  foregoing  experiment  is  not  an 
intellectual  one.  An  ox,  which  possesses  considerable  in- 
telligence, would  stand  and  fret  for  hours  before  it  would 
go  back  from  the  food,  while  the  rat,  which  possesses  far 
less  intelligence,  would  set  itself  to  work  at  once,  and  dig, 
if  need  be,  for  a  whole  night  through  solid  earth.  He 
would  go  back,  or  round,  or  over,  or  under ;  in  short,  he 
would  labor  patiently  till  his  efforts  were  crowned  with 
success.  This  quality  of  patience  in  brutes  does  not  seem 
to  bear  any  relation  to  their  rank  in  the  scale  of  intelli- 
gence, and  yet  it  must  be  regarded  as  one  of  the  noblest 
attributes,  either  of  man  or  brute ;  for  the  fact  that  a  quality 
is  possessed  by  a  brute  does  not  prevent  it  from  being 
among  the  noblest  human  attributes. 


MM  OUR  HOME. 

Even  the  great  mass  of  mankind  have  not  yet  passed 
that  stage  in  which  they  cannot  bide  the  lapse  of  time 
between  a  desire  and  its  gratification.  It  is  a  character- 
istic of  the  highest  souls  to  feel  that  they  may  be  approach- 
ing the  object  of  their  desire  while  they  see  it  receding. 

It  is  true  that  it  requires  but  little  intellectual  power  to 
see  that  in  many  cases  this  may  be  so  ;  and  yet  there  is  a 
wide  difference  between  a  mere  intellectual  conception 
and  that  attribute  of  the  soul  which  converts  the  con- 
ception into  a  living  truth.  The  wide  gulf  that  stretches 
between  the  mere  intellectual  assent  to  the  highest 
spiritual  fact,  and  that  element  in  the  soul  which  takes 
hold  of  it  as  a  part  of  its  own  living  self,  is  just  that 
which  stretches  between  faith  and  reason,  patience  and 
impatience. 

In  this  view  of  the  subject  patience  is  allied  to  faith. 
Patience  is  that  which  makes  us  willing  to  wait,  and  faith 
is  that  which  makes  us  feel  that  the  waiting  will  bear  us  a 
sweet  fruition. 

Patience  is  a  higher  and  grander  virtue  than  the  world 
has  yet  acknowledged.  It  is  that  noble  element  which 
appreciates  time  and  indirect  motion  in  the  gratification  of 
desires.  It  is  allied  to  the  divine  instinct  of  the  tree  that 
waits  for  the  flower  and  the  fruit. 

Trials,  sorrow,  and  death  await  us  all.  It  is  useless  to 
attempt  to  escape  them,  for  they  are  inevitable.  They  are 
the  frosts  that  open  the  hard  burrs  of  human  hearts.     But 


PATIENCE.  255 

it  is  only  as  instruments  in  the  hands  of  patience  that  they 
become  ministrant  to  our  development. 

God  imposes  upon  man  the  obligation  to  no  virtue  which 
he  has  not  first  woven  into  the  constitution  of  nature. 
Every  cardinal  virtue  is  first  a  cosmical  law.  Thus  the 
grand  virtue  of  patience  is  eternally  mated  with  nature's 
law  of  constancy.  It  is  the  patience  of  nature  that  rears 
and  completes  the  proud  temple  of  the  oak.  It  is  her  pa- 
tience through  which  the  never-wearying  rootlet  embraces 
the  rocky  ribs  of  the  moveless  boulder.  Through  what 
long  and  weary  ages  has  nature  pounded  on  the  granite 
doors  of  giant  mountains,  pleading  for  the  crumbs  that  fall 
from  the  rocky  tables,  that  she  may  bear  them  down  to  the 
vales,  to  feed  the  hungry  guests  that  wait  in  her  halls  below. 
Through  uncounted  eras  she  has  stood  with  patient  hand 
and  sifted  into  river  beds  and  ocean  depths  the  fine  alluvial 
morsels  that  she  begged  from  miser  mountains.  Thus  does 
patience  bear  the  credentials  of  its  own  divinity.  'T  is  the 
same  patience,  divinely  born,  that  we  trace  through  all  the 
instinctive  movements  and  laborious  life  of  bee,  and  spider, 
and  architectonic  beaver.  The  great  law  of  patience  bears 
the  same  divine  approval,  whether  we  find  it  in  the  silent 
consecutiveness  of  natural  law,  in  the  tireless  movements 
of  the  laboring  ant,  in  the  sweet  innocence  of  childhood 
building  its  play-house,  in  the  stern  bread-battle  of  human 
life,  in  the  pale,  wasting  vigilance  of  the  brain-toiling,  star- 
reading    scientist,    or  in  divine  simplicity,  thorn-crowned 


^5G  OUR  HOME. 

and  bleeding,  on  the  quaking  brow  of  Calvary.  Thus 
patience  is  divine,  and  to  be  patient  is  to  be  God-like. 

Patience  is  the  grandest  representative  of  God.  It  has 
been  the  captain  of  the  divine  forces ;  out  from  the  fiery 
halls  of  chaos  it  has  led,  in  shining  battalions,  the  helmeted 
stars.  On  earth  it  has  produced  the  highest  results  that 
mark  the  career  of  man.  There  is  no  shining  goal  of 
human  glory  too  bright  or  too  remote  for  patience.  No 
height  can  tire  its  wing.  Strike  from  the  firmament  of 
human  greatness  every  star  that  has  been  placed  there  by 
the  hand  of  patience,  and  you  cover  that  firmament  with 
the  veil  of  midnight  darkness.  It  is  patience  that  has 
crushed  mighty  evils  and  wrought  sublime  reforms  in  hu- 
man history ;  patience,  that  dared  to  stand  up  and  meet  the 
taunts  of  ignorance  and  bigotry  ;  patience,  that  has  calmly 
walked  back  into  the  shadow  of  defeat,  with  "  Thy  will  be 
done  "  upon  its  lips  ;  patience,  that  has  breathed  the  fiery 
smoke  of  torment  with  upturned  brow. 

Truly  has  it  been  said,  "  Patience  comforts  the  poor 
and  moderates  the  rich ;  she  makes  us  humble  in  prosper- 
ity, cheerful  in  adversity,  unmoved  by  calumny,  and  above 
reproach  ;  she  teaches  us  to  forgive  those  who  have  injured 
us,  and  to  be  the  first  in  asking  the  forgiveness  of  those 
whom  we  have  injured ;  she  delights  the  faithful,  and  in- 
vites the  unbelieving ;  she  adorns  the  woman  and  approves 
the  man  ;  she  is  beautiful  in  either  sex  and  every  age." 

It  is  the  sin  of  this  high-pressure  age,  that  it  cannot 


PATIENCE.  257 

wait ;  and  here  again  the  accusation  must  rest  with  pecu- 
liar emphasis  on  Young  America.  We  have  yet  to  learn 
from  orchard  and  garden  that  the  best  in  nature  ripens 
slowest.  The  American  child  has  much  to  learn  in  this 
respect,  from  English  and  German  children,  especially  the 
latter ;  the  Germans  are  the  world's  models  of  patience. 

The  American  boy  reads  the  life  of  some  eminent  man, 
and  immediately  he  is  fired  with  a  desire  to  be  like  him. 
He  ignores  the  elements  of  time  and  indirect  action.  He 
sets  aside  the  factor  of  life's  developing  hardships,  and  en- 
tertains the  insane  idea  that  he  can  be  like  his  ideal  in  a 
short  time.  He  buys  advanced  works  on  his  special 
theme.  He  cannot  stop  to  master  the  elementary  works. 
His  theory  is  that  the  greater  includes  the  less.  He  sits 
up  late  at  night,  vainly  trying  to  comprehend  his  ponder- 
ous books,  until  he  becomes  discouraged  and  abandons  all 
further  attempts  to  be  a  great  man. 

Now  the  fact  of  his  wild  enthusiasm  proves  that  he  had 
in  him  the  elements  of  greatness,  a  greatness  that  would 
have  justified  his  aspirations,  had  not  the  American  vice 
of  impatience  crushed  it  in  the  bud.  The  world  is  full  of 
such  defeated  greatness.  Genius  with  patience  is  invinci- 
ble and  divine,  but  without  patience  it  is  a  blind  Ulysses 
groping  in  the  darkness. 

"  Full  many  a  flower  is  born  to  blush  unseen," 

only  because  it  insists  on  being  seen  before  it  has  blos- 
somed, and  the  world  will  not  look  at  it. 

17  * 


866  OUR  HOME, 

Young  men  are  apt  to  be  in  too  much  of  a  hurry  to 
reach  the  goal  of  their  aspiration.  Now  and  then  we  find 
one,  who,  in  his  youth*  is  willing  to  study  with  patience, 
and 

"  Learn  to  labor  and  to  wait." 

But  the  great  majority  of  young  men  seem  to  feel  that 
the  highest  triumph  of  life  is  to  complete  their  education 
in  their  teens.  And  such  ones  are  apt  to  accomplish  that 
exceedingly  lofty  object,  from  the  very  fact  that  those 
who  commence  an  education  with  such  foolish  views  of 
life  are  pretty  sure  to  halt  in  their  pursuit  of  knowledge 
at  about  that  time.  They  are  not  likely  to  add  much  to 
the  stock  of  forced  knowledge  which  they  bring  away 
from  college.  And,  in  such  cases,  even  this  is  not  usually 
a  great  amount,  from  the  fact  of  their  having  gone  to 
college  too  early  to  make  it  of  much  use  to  them. 

It  is  true  that  many  great  and  useful  men  have  com- 
pleted their  college  education  while  very  young,  but  it  was 
because  they  were  by  nature  able  to  do  this  without  impa- 
tient haste.  Their  genius  had,  perhaps,  a  slight  tinge  of 
precocity,  an  element,  however,  which  constitutes  no  part 
of  genius.  It  is  entirely  foreign  to  it,  and  may  exist,  and 
far  oftener  does,  in  connection  with  talents  that  are  below 
mediocrity.  Genius  consists  in  a  special  aptitude  for  labor, 
patient  labor. 

Our  common  schools  are  a  living  monument  of  the  im- 
patience of  America,  and  it  is  not   impossible  that  the 


PATIENCE.  259 

monument  may  yet  crumble  with  its  own  weight,  They 
may  yet  thwart  the  very  object  of  that  intense  and  head- 
long desire,  of  which  the  impatience  both  of  parents  and 
educators  is  the  expression.  Neither  Greece  nor  Rome 
attained  their  glory  through  such  impatient  culture. 

But  there  is  another  reason  why  we  should  cultivate  pa- 
tience. It  is  conducive  to  health  and  longevity.  No  im- 
patient man  ever  died  of  old  age.  Impatience  is  a  friction 
in  the  wheels  of  life.  Intemperance  will  not  wear  out  the 
machinery  of  life  sooner  than  impatience.  And  not  only 
does  the  patient  man  live  longer  than  the  impatient  man, 
when  length  of  life  is  computed  in  years  and  months,  but 
he  also  lives  longer  in  another  and  important  sense.  In 
computing  the  duration  of  a  human  life  in  the  actual  sense 
of  life,  if  we  wish  to  obtain  the  result  in  minutes  and  sec- 
onds, we  must  strike  out  from  the  calculation  all  those 
minutes  and  seconds  in  which  he  does  not  live  in  the  proper 
sense  of  the  word.  This  would  include  all  periods  of  un- 
consciousness, of  intoxication,  and  of  mental  alienation. 
In  short,  all  moments  which  when  past  leave  in  our  nature 
no  rational  record  of  their  passage. 

Now  the  patient  man  has  a  calm  and  rational  apprecia- 
tion of  each  moment  of  his  conscious  life,  and  his  moments 
of  unconsciousness  are  fewer  than  those  of  the  impatient 
man.  The  patient  man,  as  a  general  rule,  requires  less  sleep 
than  one  who  is  impatient,  for  the  brain  and  all  the  physi- 
cal powers  require  time  for  recuperation  in  sleep  just  in 


260  OUR  HOME. 

proportion  to  the  amount  of  waste  during  wakefulness. 
But  nothing  so  wastes  the  vital  and  mental  power  as  the 
spasmodic,  fitful,  ineffectual  and  half  unconscious  move- 
ments, thoughts  and  feelings  of  the  impatient  man.  "  Well 
I'm  tired,  but  I  haven't  done  anything,"  is  the  habitual  ex- 
pression of  the  impatient,  while  the  patient  accomplish  a 
great  deal  but  are  seldom  tired.  The  reason  is  plain.  The 
impatient  man  cannot  stop  to  see  where  to  take  hold,  and 
so  takes  hold  several  times,  and  makes  as  many  useless 
movements,  all  of  which  weary  and  exhaust.  But  the  pa- 
tient man  takes  hold  in  the  right  place  the  first  time,  and 
thus  not  only  saves  time,  but  physical  and  mental  energy. 
And  so  while  the  patient  man  calmly  and  without  friction 
accomplishes  life's  mission,  the  impatient  man  wears  out 
his  powers  and  dies  of  exhaustion  before  he  gets  ready  to 
begin  the  work. 

"  'Tis  mine  to  work,  and  not  to  win; 

The  soul  must  wait  to  have  her  wings; 
Even  time  is  but  a  landmark  in 
The  great  eternity  of  things. 

"  Is  it  so  much  that  thou  below, 

O  heart,  shouldst  fail  of  thy  desire, 

When  death,  as  we  believe  and  know, 

Is  but  a  call  to  come  up  higher  ?  " 


TEMPERANCE. 


1  HE  word  temperance,  from  the  Latin  temper- 
antia,  meant  simply  moderation,  and  when  it 
came  to  be  first  applied  with  special  emphasis 
to  the  use  of  alcoholic  beverages  it  meant  only 
a  moderate  use  of  them,  and  did  not  convey 
[  Ov'V'W       thi  remotest  idea  of  total  abstinence. 

If  the  fate  of  the  temperance  reform  rested 

f^*  upon  the  primitive  significance  of  dead  words, 
then,  indeed,  were  its  advocates  hopeless. 
But  no,  the  temperance  reform  and  the 
words  that  designate  its  glorious  sentiment  were  born  to- 
gether, born  amid  the  thunder  storm  of  oppression,  born  of 
the  heartless  parentage  of  hisses  and  of  scorn,  parents  who 
tried  to  strangle  their  own  offspring,  but  could  not  do  it, 
for  it  bore  upon  its  forehead  the  birth-mark  of  immortality. 
Its  birth  was  an  event  that  lay  along  the  inevitable  path  of 
human  development. 

We  will  not  contend  with  those  who  would  prostitute 
their  scholarship  to  rear  a  feeble  argument  upon  the  dusty 
lexicons  of  Greece  and  Rome,  claiming  that  the  world  has 
never  before  found  occasion  for  a  word  to  designate  the 


262  OUR  HOME. 

total  abstinence  from  intoxicating  beverages.  We  have 
no  wish  to  dispute  the  significance  of  those  old  roots  that 
lie  dead  and  brittle  in  the  soil  of  the  ages. 

These  definitions  were  assigned  by  an  infant  world,  but 
it  has  outgrown  them  now.  We  well  remember  when  the 
word  "star"  signified  to  us  only  a  shining  speck,  only  a 
"gimlet  hole  to  let  the  light  of  heaven  through."  But  to 
our  ampler  vision  they  are  the  chariots  of  God  that  glide 
across  the  longitudes  of  night.  Words  are  the  products  of 
human  thought.  They  are  born  amid  the  agonizing  throes 
that  accompany  the  aggressions  of  intellect.  Every  con- 
quest, every  victory,  is  marked  by  the  birth  of  a  new  word 
and  the  death  of  an  old  one.  Like  the  corpuscles  of  the 
blood,  they  are  springing  into  being  and  dying  with  every 
pulsation  of  the  world's  brain.  The  "dead  languages" 
are  but  the  moss-covered  monuments  that  mark  the  ceme- 
teries of  the  world's  perished  ideals. 

We  do  not  mean,  of  course,  that  there  literally  comes 
into  use  a  new  word  with  every  new  idea.  Much  less  do 
we  mean  that  a  word  actually  becomes  obsolete.  We 
mean  that  language  is  a  thing  of  growth,  that  it  is  modified 
to  meet  the  ever  changing  conditions  of  human  unfolding, 
and  that  words  pass  out  of  use  or  change  their  meanings 
with  every  outgrown  idea. 

lie  who  does  not  dare  advocate  the  temperance  cause  to- 
day in  its  boldest  and  most  radical  form  is  a  coward,  and  in 
a  certain  sense  a  dead  weight  upon  society.     But  those  who 


TEMPERANCE.  2G3 

steal  the  livery  of  science  and  clothe  themselves  in  the  cun- 
ning drapery  of  sophistry  and  become  the  hired  pleaders 
for  passion  and  for  vice,  deserve  the  everlasting  execration 
of  humanity.  If  we  summon  the  saddest  meaning  that 
"doom"  possesses  it  is  but  mild  beside  their  crime.  To 
misinterpret  the  divine  message  of  science,  and  thus  place 
in  the  hands  of  vice  the  devil's  magic  wand,  is  the  crown- 
ing sin  of  man. 

And  yet  there  are  hundreds  that  incur  this  guilt.  Men 
wThose  names  ensure  their  recognition  seek  to  defend  their 
own  vices  with  the  awe  inspiring  weapons  of  high  sound- 
ing technicalities  and  scientific  phrases.  Such  are  those 
who  tell  us  that  alcohol  is  transformed  into  nervous  tissue, 
that  it  is  a  respiratory  food,  etc.  They  tell  us  that  it  is 
nerve  food,  because  its  use  occasions  a  greater  manifesta- 
tion of  strength  and  nervous  energy.  A  conflagration  in  a 
city  is  usually  attended  with  considerable  activity  on  the 
part  of  its  citizens,  but  fires  are  not  generally  regarded  as 
desirable  stimulants  to  industry.  War  is  always  the  occa- 
sion of  a  nation's  highest  energy,  but  shall  we,  therefore, 
say  that  war  is  a  source  of  strength,  and  that  it  feeds  a 
nation  with  the  elements  of  energy  ?  Is  it  not  rather  a 
wasting  process,  and  is  not  the  strength  manifested  in  its 
expenditure  rather  than  in  its  accumulation  ?  We  see  the 
energy  as  it  goes  out  from  the  nation  in  a  wasting  stream, 
and  not  as  it  goes  in. 

Just  so  with  the  nervous  energy,  it  manifests  itself  in  its 


2G4  OUR  HOME. 

outward  passage.  The  alcohol  simply  worries  and  frets 
the  nervous  system,  and  causes  it  to  act  in  self-defense  to 
cast  out  the  intruder,  just  as  war  worries  and  frets  a 
nation.  When  a  sliver  is  lodged  in  the  flesh  the  vital 
instincts  are  at  once  summoned  to  the  spot,  and,  with 
might  and  main,  strive  to  cast  out  the  foreign  substance, 
the  intruder  which  has  no  right  to  be  there.  Every  one 
knows  how  this  is  accomplished.  There  is  first  a  redness, 
an  increased  vital  action  in  the  part  and  a  swelling.  This 
is  because  the  vital  forces  are  aroused  and  rush  to  the 
spot  to  see  what  is  the  matter.  Just  as  the  forces  of  the 
city,  at  the  cry  of  fire,  rush  to  the  spot.  There  is  a  swell- 
ing of  the  city,  in  the  part  affected,  an  increase  of  its  vital 
action  attended  with  symptoms  of  morbid  inflammation, 
almost  exactly  what  happens  in  the  vital  system.  The 
analogy  is  striking,  and  indicates  beyond  a  doubt  that  a 
common  principle  is  involved  in  both  cases.  When  these 
vital  instincts  have  ascertained  what  is  the  matter,  they  set 
themselves  to  work  to  cast  the  sliver  out.  They  throw  up 
around  it  a  secretion  which  cuts  it  off  from  all  connection 
with  the  system,  and  isolates  it,  and  after  a  short  time  it 
falls  out  of  its  own  accord. 

Exactly  in  the  same  way  these  vital  instincts  drive  the 
alcohol  to  the  surface,  through  the  skin,  and  lungs,  and 
kidneys,  and  brain.  This  is  why  long  after  alcohol  has 
been  drunk,  its  odor  may  be  detected  in  the  breath.  With 
every  breath  it  is  thrown  out  from  the  lungs.     The  odor 


TEMPERANCE.  265 

may  also  be  detected  in  the  perspiration.  As  it  is  borne 
along  the  circulation  to  the  brain,  it  excites  that  organ  to 
an  unnatural  degree  of  activity,  or  if  the  dose  is  too  great, 
the  vital  instincts  give  up  the  attempt  for  a  time,  the  brain 
sinks  into  a  torpid  state,  and  the  person  is  said  to  be  dead- 
drunk. 

But  alcohol  is  said  to  be  a  respiratory  food,  meaning 
that  it  is  burnt  in  the  body  like  the  carbon  of  our  food, 
that  it  unites  with  the  oxygen  in  the  lungs  and  thus  in 
many  cases  prevents  the  tissues  from  consuming  them- 
selves. 

There  is  but  one  solitary  fact  that  by  any  method  of 
manipulation  can  be  made  to  take  the  semblance  of  an  ar- 
gument in  support  of  this  theory,  and  that  one  fact  is  that 
alcohol  warms  the  system.  But  cayenne  pepper  warms 
the  system,  so  does  quinine,  so  does  sulphuric  acid,  so 
does  pain,  so  does  intense  joy,  so  does  laughter,  so  does 
love,  so  does  hate,  so  do  spasms  and  convulsions,  so  does 
rheumatism,  so  does  a  fever,  so  does  the  cramp  colic. 

All  these,  of  course,  are  respiratory  food,  since  they 
"  warm  the  system."  It  is  true  that  our  scientists  (?) 
have  not  yet  succeeded  in  demonstrating  that  the  cramp 
colic  is  oxidized  in  the  lungs,  but  we  can't  tell  what  the 
future  may  develop. 

When  one  is  suddenly  awakened  from  sleep  to  find  that 
he  must  engage  in  a  hand  to  hand  fight  with  a  midnight 
assassin,  we  have  a  striking  illustration  of  what  takes  place 


2(j6  OUR  HOME. 

when  the  assassin  alcohol  enters  the  dwelling  of  the  hu- 
man soul.  That  vital  instinct  which  allows  no  foreign 
substance  within  its  domain  at  once  grapples  the  intruder, 
a  sharp  contest  ensues,  in  which  the  alcohol  is  beaten  and 
driven  out  through  the  open  door  of  the  skin,  the  kidneys, 
the  lungs,  or  the  brain.  And  just  here  is  the  origin  of  the 
heat  which  alcohol  occasions.  It  is  due  to  the  overaction 
of  the  vital  forces  in  their  attempt  to  rid  themselves  of  a 
deadly  foe.  The  midnight  fight,  just  referred  to,  would 
naturally  be  a  warming  process,  but  we  have  never  known 
physicians  to  prescribe  midnight  assassins  as  respiratory 
food.  We  presume,  however,  that  they  might  take  the 
place  of  most  of  the  nostrums  of  the  materia  medica  with 
little  disadvantage  to  the  suffering  part  of  the  community. 

We  must  look  beyond  the  Sons  of  Temperance  or  the 
Good  Templars  for  the  secret  of  success  in  the  temperance 
reform. 

Organization  is  essential  to  the  success  of  any  great  re- 
form, but  it  is  simply  the  machinery  that  is  driven  by  an 
unseen  principle.  It  never  yet  of  itself  wrought  a  revolu- 
tion. The  solution  of  the  great  problem  lies  deeper  than 
the  mystery  of  the  "  pass  word."  It  lies  in  the  knowledge 
of  natural  law,  in  the  thorough  education  of  the  people. 
When  the  people  learn  that  alcohol  is  a  poison  in  all  quan- 
tities and  under  all  circumstances,  when  they  learn  that  it 
is  never  necessary  either  in  health  or  disease,  then  we  may 
look  for  gratifying  results  in  the  temperance  reform. 


TEMPERANCE.  267 

The  world  has  too  little  faith  in  nature  and  too  much 
in  medicine.  Disease  itself  is  a  curative  effort  of  na- 
ture, and  is  not  a  thing  to  be  conquered  by  a  poison, 
but  an  action  to  be  regulated  by  favorable  conditions.  So 
long  as  people  possess  that  insane  faith  in  the  efficacy  of 
medicine,  so  long  will  they  believe  anything  that  unprinci- 
pled physicians  (?)  may  choose  to  tell  them  about  alcohol. 
The  contest  is  between  true  philosophy  and  the  lingering 
superstition  of  the  nineteenth  century. 

Perhaps  the  most  conspicuous  mental  feature  of  the  sav- 
age man  is  his  superstitious  fear  of  medicine  and  the 
"  medicine  man."  The  world  has  always  advanced  just  as 
fast  as  it  has  lost  faith  in  medicine. 

There  is  one  fact  with  which  the  temperance  reform  has 
to  contend,  more  formidable  than  all  others  combined.  It 
is  the  fact  that  people  so  readily  yield  to  the  argument  of 
their  feelings.  It  requires  much  intellectual  courage  not 
to  believe  what  our  feelings  tell  us. 

It  is  a  fact  that  alcohol  often  makes  people  feel  better. 
It  elevates  their  spirits  and  makes  them  feel  strong,  buoy- 
ant and  hopeful.  Under  such  circumstances  it  requires 
almost  a  divine  argument  to  convince  them  that  they  are 
not  being  benefited. 

Temperance  will  triumph  when  the  argument  of  reason 
becomes  stronger  than  that  of  feeling  with  the  masses. 
We  are  so  constituted  that  our  feelings  are  generally  final 
in  their  authority.     Hence  the  necessity  of  distinguishing 


868  OUR  HOME. 

between  the  significance  of  the  natural  and  the  artificial. 
People  must  be  taught  to  do  this  before  we  can  expect 
them  to  abandon  the  use  of  alcohol. 

How  then  shall  this  be  brought  about  ?  Surely  not  by 
legislation,  not  by  seizures  and  fines,  but  by  the  slow  and 
laborious  process  of  education.  This  education  must  be 
specific,  and  must  be  directed  for  the  most  part  to  the  ris- 
ing generation.  The  pathetic  stories  of  reformed  drunk- 
ards may  have  their  influence  in  shaping  public  sentiment, 
but  at  best  they  can  be  only  subsidiary  to  a  more  substan- 
tial and  abiding  force.  Legal  measures  may  serve  their 
purpose,  but  the  reformatory  efforts  should  be  directed 
mainly  to  the  securing  of  that  condition  which  shall  ren- 
der legal  measures  unnecessary.  This  condition  must  be 
sought  in  the  education  of  the  children,  who  not  only  must 
be  taught  to  distinguish  the  significance  of  natural  and 
normal  appetites  from  the  unnatural  and  abnormal,  but 
their  training  and  education  must  be  such  that  they  shall 
have  no  unnatural  and  abnormal  appetites.  Unnatural 
appetites  are  the  product  of  wrong  physical  training,  and 
intemperance  is  the  product  of  unnatural  appetites.  Hence 
wrong  training  is  the  origin  of  intemperance. 

In  our  chapter  on  home  training  we  have  spoken  of  the 
process  by  which  wrong  physical  training  produces  drunk- 
ards. We  repeat  its  substance,  however,  for  the  sake  of 
special  emphasis.  All  that  is  necessary  to  make  a  drunk- 
ard is,  first,  a  good  healthy  boy  as  material ;  and  second, 


TEMPERANCE.  2G9 

plenty  of  candy,  pastry,  pickles,  and  medicine  as  tools. 
Any  mother  with  such  an  outfit  can  manufacture  a  drunk- 
ard. The  process  is  extremely  simple.  Drunkenness,  as 
we  have  said,  is  the  product  of  a  diseased  or  unnatural 
appetite,  and  the  appetite  may  be  diseased  or  rendered 
unnatural  by  taking  advantage  of  the  slight  caprice  which 
all  appetites  possess,  especially  in  the  civilized  world,  thus 
causing  it  to  accept  at  times  that  which  it  otherwise  would 
not,  and  which  it  does  not  naturally  crave. 

Unnatural  appetites  crave  unnatural  food,  and  accord- 
ingly unnatural  food  will  in  its  turn  induce  an  unnatural 
appetite ;  so  that  all  a  mother  who  desires  to  experiment 
in  this  direction  has  to  do  is  to  give  her  boy  unnatural 
food,  and  every  mother  knows  what  we  mean  by  unnatural 
food.  It  is  not  necessary  for  us  to  enumerate  the  many 
articles  to  which  this  adjective  is  applicable.  The  phrase 
at  once  suggests  to  the  ordinary  mind  the  abominations  of 
spice,  pickle,  pork,  and  pastry,  that  fill  the  dining-halls  of 
civilization  with  their  sickly  odors,  that  would  nauseate 
the  healthier  appetites  of  the  South  Sea  Island  cannibals. 

The  mother  who  desires  to  make  a  drunkard  must  tam- 
per with  her  boy's  appetite  by  offering  him  that  which 
he  does  not  crave;  by  compelling  him  to  go  without  a 
meal  as  a  punishment  for  some  offense,  and  thus  become 
very  hungry,  so  that  he  will  be  sure  to  overeat  at  the  next 
meal ;  by  compelling  him  always  to  eat  all  that  he  happens 
to  have  in  his  plate  whether  he  desires  it  or  not,  instead  of 


270  OUR  HO  mi:. 

iching  him  to  drop  his  knife  and  fork  at  the  first  sugges- 
tion of  sated  appetite.  Of  course  we  take  it  for  granted 
that  she  believes  root  beer,  etc.,  etc.,  to  be  u  very  whole- 
some." She  should  use  a  great  deal  of  spice  in  her 
cooking.  She  should  aim  to  take  away  as  completely  as 
possible,  the  natural  flavor  of  fruits  and  vegetables,  and 
substitute  an  artificial  one.  She  should  always  manifest 
great  anxiety  lest  her  boy  should  not  eat  enough  to  "  keep 
up  his  strength."  She  should,  of  course,  give  him  plenty 
of  candy — it  is  good  for  the  teeth,  that  is,  for  false  teeth. 
But  what  is  of  more  importance  than  everything  else,  she 
should  dose  him  freely  with  medicine  whenever  he  is 
slightly  indisposed.  By  the  way,  we  came  near  forgetting 
to  advise  a  free  use  of  tea  and  coffee. 

We  have  said  but  little  about  intemperance  in  the  ordi- 
nary way.  We  have  told  no  stories  of  neglected  wives 
and  broken-hearted  mothers.  We  leave  that  phase  of  the 
subject  to  the  sentimental  lecturer.  But  we  have  given  in 
language  somewhat  ironical,  that  which  we  believe  the  peo- 
ple need,  and  that  which  every  mother  ought  to  reflect  upon. 

The  one  fact  which  we  have  tried  to  make  prominent  is 
that  the  appetite  for  alcoholic  beverages  is  not  necessarily 
induced  by  the  use  of  these  beverages  themselves,  but  may 
be  created  by  the  use  of  whatever  inflames  the  system,  or 
vitiates  the  taste. 

It  is  sufficient  simply  to  state  that  the  predisposition  to 
alcoholic  intemperance   may  be,  and  often  is,  transmitted 


TEMPERANCE.  271 

from  parent  to  child.  This  is  a  fact  which  is  very  gener- 
ally known,  but  it  is  not,  perhaps,  so  generally  known, 
that  it  is  often  transmitted  from  grandparent  to  grand- 
child, thus  passing  over  one  and  sometimes  two  generations 
of  temperate  parents.  The  fact  that  intemperance,  or  a 
tendency  to  intemperance,  is  thus  hereditary,  should  render 
all  parents  doubly  vigilant  in  the  training  of  their  children. 
We  have  aimed  in  this  chapter  at  a  deeper  considera- 
tion of  the  subject  of  temperance  in  its  relation  to  the 
home  life  than  a  mere  enumeration  of  those  superficial 
evils  of  which  society  is  chiefly  cognizant.  The  follow- 
ing poem  with  sufficient  accuracy  portrays  this  class  of 
evils : — 

"  Now  horrid  frays 
Commence,  the  brimming  glasses  now  are  hurled 
With  dire  intent;  bottles  with  bottles  clash 
In  rude  encounter,  round  their  temples  fly 
The  sharp-edged  fragments,  down  their  battered  cheeks 
Mixed  gore  and  cider  flow;  what  shall  we  say 
Of  rash  Elpenor,  who  in  evil  hour 
Dried  an  immeasurable  bowl  and  thought 
To  exhale  his  surfeit  by  irriguous  sleep, 
Imprudent  ?  him  death's  iron  sleep  oppressed, 
Descending  from  his  couch;  the  fall 
Luxed  his  neck-joint  and  spinal  marrow  bruised. 
Nor  need  we  tell  what  anxious  cares  attend 
The  turbulent  mirth  of  wine;  nor  all  the  kinds 
Of  maladies  that  lead  to  death's  grim  care, 
Wrought  by  intemperance,  joint  racking  gout, 
Intestine  stone,  and  pining  atrophy, 
Chill,  even  when  the  sun  with  July  heats 
Fires  the  scorched  soil,  and  dropsy  all  afloat, 
Yet  craving  liquids:  nor  the  Centaurs'  tale 
Be  here  repeated:  how,  with  lust  and  wine 
Inflamed,  they  fought,  and  spilt  their  drunken  souls 
At  feasting  hour." 


ECONOMY  OF  HOME. 


JF 


L 


t 


iHE  institution  of  home  is  in  itself  a  divine 
application  of  the  law  of  economy.  It  con- 
tains the  first  suggestion  of  the  "  division  of 
abor." 

It  is  a  fact  within  the  observation  of  soci- 
ety in  general,  and  has  almost  become  an 
adage,  that  man  and  woman  can  live  at  less 
expense  together  than  separately.  This  is 
certainly  a  benevolent  provision,  offering  as  it  does  another 
inducement  to  the  only  legitimate  life,  the  home  life. 

Nature  is  the  model  economist.  She  never  wastes  a  leaf, 
and  yet  she  is  the  most  benevolent  of  all  givers.  She  will 
give  you  without  stint  of  her  golden  cheeked  and  luscious 
flavored  fruits,  and  yet  she  never  throws  away  even  her  de- 
cayed products,  but  turns  them  into  her  laboratory  and 
makes  them  over  into  good  fruit,  a  subtle  reproof  to  the 
unfrugal  housewife  who  throws  away  the  remains  of  the 
supper,  that  might  be  warmed  over  for  breakfast.  Nature 
knows  the  secret  of  being  both  economical  and  generous, 
she  knows  how  to  be  frugal  without  being  penurious.  She 
is  not  lazy,  and  yet  she  always  takes  the  shortest  path.     Of 


ECONOMY  OF  HOME.  273 

two  equally  good  conductors  the  electric  charge  always 
takes  the  shorter.  It  will  even  choose  the  poorer  con- 
ductor rather  than  take  the  longer  one.  The  principle  of 
"  least  action  "  in  mechanics  is  of  the  same  nature.  These 
facts  show  that  economy  is  a  law  of  nature,  and  pervades 
the  very  soul  of  the  universe. 

But  not  only  is  it  a  law  of  the  outward  universe,  it  is  an 
innate  sentiment  or  instinct  of  human  nature, — and  not 
only  of  human  nature,  but  of  all  conscious  existence.  We 
see  it  manifested  in  the  squirrel,  when  he  gathers  during 
the  autumn  his  store  of  nuts  and  corn  for  his  sustenance 
during  the  coming  winter. 

The  same  instinct  that  prompts  the  squirrel  to  do  this  is 
the  moving  impulse  of  the  great  commercial  world.  In 
both  instances  it  is  simply  an  instinct,  a  faculty  that  brings 
its  possessor  into  sympathy  with  the  economic  law  that 
governs  the  movements  of  nature.  It  is  the  instinct  of 
economy  that  tells  the  worm,  the  bee,  the  cat,  the  dog,  and, 
in  short,  all  animals,  that  a  straight  line  is  the  shortest  dis- 
tance between  two  points,  and  that  makes  it  to  the  human 
intellect  an  axiom. 

The  law  of  economy,  then,  is  simply  that  by  which  all 
necessary  results  in  nature  are  brought  about  with  the  least 
possible  expenditure  of  force,  and  what  we  call  economy  in 
man  is  an  instinctive  appreciation  and  application  of  this 
law. 

To  the  low  and  mean  the  word  economy  signifies  dishon- 

18 


274  OUR  HOME. 

est  acquisition  and  theft.  To  the  honest  but  hard  working 
man  it  means  industry  and  frugality.  To  the  moralist  and 
philosopher  it  means  social  science,  civilizing  tendencies, 
and  universal  culture.  So  it  is  that  one's  definition  of 
economy  to  a  certain  extent  defines  his  character  also.  But 
he  who  takes  his  definition  from  nature's  lips  cannot  err. 

Nature  will  not  allow  an  idle  atom  in  her  realm.  She 
compels  every  rain-drop  to  become  her  minister,  to  bear 
her  proffered  treaty  between  the  warring  clouds  and  earth, 
and  thus  disarm  them  of  their  wrath,  and  with  its  subtle 
diplomacy  to  reconcile  them  to  the  pledge  of  peace.  And 
with  an  eye  to  the  economy  of  travel  she  bids  her  messen- 
gers pause  upon  the  mountain  summit,  as  they  pass  from 
cloud  to  earth,  and  take  down  with  them  from  decaying 
rocks  and  mountain  gorges  a  load  of  timber  from  which  to 
form  her  fertile  soil. 

She  makes  the  birds  and  zephyrs  her  husbandmen  to 
garner  and  sow  the  seeds  of  myriad  plants.  She  bends 
the  neck  of  the  proud  lightning,  and  makes  it  her  scaven- 
ger to  purify  the  atmosphere.  She  lays  her  shaggy  moun- 
tains on  the  toiling  backs  of  earthquakes,  and  bids  them 
lift  the  burden  to  the  sky.  She  makes  the  omnipresent 
oxygen  her  domestic  servant,  and  tasks  his  eyesight  and 
skillful  fingers  to  unravel  her  snarled  and  complicated 
skeins  of  chemical  elements ;  or,  if  she  will,  exalts  him  to 
the  higher  office  of  attorney,  and  pleads  through  him  for 
the  divorce  of  unhappily  wedded  constituents. 


ECONOMY  OF  HOME.  275 

The  home  is  the  reproduction  of  nature  on  a  small  scale, 
and  not  the  least  so  in  this  matter  of  economy. 

Nature  is  the  pattern  for  the  home,  and  every  man  and 
woman  who  in  any  capacity  represent  a  home  should 
take  advantage  of  her  example,  and  learn  a  lesson  from 
the  way  in  which  she  scrapes  up  her  "odds  and  ends," 
and  utilizes  them.  To  all  of  us  she  says,  "  Accumulate  all 
you  can  ;  employ  every  moment ;  let  no  opportunity  pass 
without  grasping  its  hand  to  see  if  there  is  not  hidden  in 
its  palm  a  golden  coin." 

But  nature  is  no  miser.  Her  economy  does  not  consist 
in  meanness.  She  accumulates  that  she  may  give.  She  is 
honest  and  will  do  as  she  agrees.  We  need  not  take  her 
note,  her  word  is  good.  It  is  a  law  founded  in  the  eternal 
beneficence  of  things,  written  on  every  tree  whose  friendly 
foliage  shields  us  from  the  scorching  sun ;  on  every  spark- 
ling rivulet  that  weeps  soft  tears  of  rain  upon  the  thirsty 
land,  which  in  its  turn  gives  back  the  gracious  tribute  of 
its  shrubs  and  flowers,  and  with  an  answering  compliment 
flings  its  rich  gift  of  roses  to  deck  the  river  banks;  on 
every  circling  satellite,  upon  the  moon's  sweet  face,  who 
in  her  modesty  sends  down  to  us  the  flood  of  kisses  which 
the  sun,  her  gallant  lover,  showers  upon  her  blushing 
brow,— on  all  of  these  is  written  the  great  law,  that  to  give 
is  to  receive,  and  whoever  would  receive  must  give. 

The  prudent  farmer,  while  he  is  generous  and  free,  will 
still  allow  no  stream  of  fertility  to  run  to  waste.     While 


276  OUR  HOME. 

he  is  industrious  and  ever  active,  he  will  still  compel  the 
wind  and  water  to  saw  his  wood  and  thresh  his  grain  and 
grind  his  corn.  He  will  make  the  forest  mold  fertilize  his 
corn  field.  There  is  no  dishonesty  in  turning  our  labor 
over  to  nature.  She  expects  to  do  all  of  our  work  before 
long,  but  not,  however,  till  she  is  requested  to  do  so.  She 
never  forces  her  services  on  us.  We  must  first  tell  her 
ju*st  what  we  wish  her  to  do,  and  how  we  wish  her  to  do 
it.  We  must  furnish  the  tools  for  her  to  work  with. 
And  even  then,  if  they  do  not  suit  her,  she  will  not  work. 
She  will  not  draw  a  train  of  cars,  unless  she  can  have  a 
delicately  constructed  engine  expressly  for  her. 

The  reason  why  men  employed  nature  so  little  in  the 
past  ages  is  because  she  was  so  particular  about  her  tools 
that  they  could  not  suit  her. 

Now  the  highest  economy  is  the  highest  invention. 
That  is,  he  is  the  most  economical  man,  other  things  being 
equal,  who  is  the  most  skillful  in  devising  tools  for  nature 
to  work  with. 

Home  is  a  broad  field  for  the  exercise  of  invention.  It 
is  chiefly  in  the  home,  or  in  some  way  connected  with  do- 
mestic life,  that  we  find  that  large  class  of  inventions 
which  minister  directly  to  human  comfort. 

It  is  not  necessary,  however,  that  every  great  and  use- 
ful invention  should  be  the  product  of  an  inventive  genius. 
On  every  farm  and  in  every  home  there  are  thousands  of 
opportunities  for  the  exercise  of  this  faculty.     The  inven- 


ECONOMY  OF  HOME.  277 

tive  farmer  will  make  his  horses  load  his  logs,  while  the 
uninventive  one  must  load  them  himself.  The  inventive 
man  can  repair  his  broken  implements,  while  the  uninven- 
tive must  take  them  to  the  blacksmith's  or  the  carpenter's, 
and  there  pay  so  much  out  of  the  profits  of  his  daily  labor. 
There  is  no  good  reason  why  every  farmer  should  not  be  a 
blacksmith,  a  carpenter,  and  a  wheelwright.  He  could 
then  repair  his  own  buildings,  shoe  his  own  horses  and 
oxen,  and  make  his  own  carriages.  Few,  perhaps,  have 
ever  stopped  to  estimate  how  much  might  be  saved  in  this 
way.  Nearly  all  that  sort  of  work  may  be  done  during 
days  in  which  nothing  profitable  could  be  accomplished  on 
the  farm.  Since  the  farmer's  work  is  so  varied  he  requires 
but  little  absolute  rest.  Hence,  if  he  were  familiar  with 
these  trades,  the  rainy  days  might  be  made  the  most  prof- 
itable ones  of  the  year.  While  nature  is  irrigating  his 
farm,  he  might  be  devising  tools  for  her  to  perform  some 
other  service  with. 

Again,  the  recreation,  the  discipline,  and  the  exercise  of 
mechanical  ingenuity  thus  afforded  would  have  a  devel- 
oping influence  on  mind  and  body.  It  is  a  fact  worth  re- 
membering that  the  men  who  have  made  farming  pay  in 
rocky  New  England  have  nearly  all  been  of  this  sort. 

Every  wife  and  mother  should  be  a  tailoress,  a  milliner, 
and  a  dress-maker.  She  should  know  something  about 
every  article  needed  in  the  household.  There  is  no  reason 
why  she  should  be  obliged  to  take  the  sewing  machine  to 


278  OUR  HOME. 

the  shop,  or  call  her  husband  to  repair  it ;  she  should  have 
inventive  talent  enough,  and  might  have  it  if  she  would 
cultivate  it,  to  take  the  machine  to  pieces  and  put  it 
together  again.  She  should  be  able  to  repair  the  churn 
and  solder  the  milk  pans.  Even  if  she  cannot  find  time  to 
make  use  of  these  accomplishments,  they  will  enable  her 
more  readily  to  tell  others  what  she  wishes  them  to  do  for 
her.  She  can  make  better  selections  of  clothing  for  herself 
and  family.  She  can  make  wiser  bargains  in  whatever  she 
purchases.  Numberless  are  the  ways  in  which  knowledge 
and  inventive  skill  will  enable  one  to  save  money. 

The  highest  economy,  however,  does  not  consist  merely 
in  saving.  Much  has  been  said,  and  very  prettily  and 
poetically  too,  about  the  saving  of  pennies.  But  the  pen- 
nies must  first  be  earned.  That  economy  which  exercises 
itself  wholly  in  saving  and  does  not  stimulate  the  inventive 
and  intellectual  powers  in  the  direction  of  acquisition  is 
almost  sure  to  degenerate  into  meanness  and  penurious- 
ness.  It  is  very  frequently  the  case  that  the  saving  pro- 
pensity is  carried  so  far  as  to  be  a  positive  obstruction  to 
the  earning.  As  when  the  farmer  refuses  to  hire  help 
because  it  must  be  paid  for,  and  thus  allows  his  crops  to 
deteriorate  on  account  of  a  too  late  harvesting,  or  when 
the  wife  refuses  to  employ  a  domestic  servant  and  becomes 
sick  on  account  of  overwork.  It  is  not  economy  to  mow 
all  summer  with  a  scythe,  when  a  few  days'  use  of  a 
machine   would  accomplish   the   same   result.     True    eco- 


ECONOMY  OF  HOME.  279 

nomy  consists  in  that  broad  and  comprehensive  knowledge 
of  affairs,  that  clear  foresight  and  calculation,  that  willing- 
ness to  spend  money  lavishly  in  the  procuring  of  the  proper 
means,  which  in  the  moving  of  circumstances  gives  us  the 
long  arm  of  the  lever. 

There  is  no  more  disgusting  spectacle  than  that  of  a 
penurious  farmer  whose  prosperity  is  crippled  by  his  own 
avarice.  Such  a  man  is  likely  to  be  found  using  a  wooden 
plow  which  his  father  left  him.  He  goes  barefooted  week 
days  in  order  to  make  his  boots  last  two  years  of  Sundays. 
If  he  buys  a  new  coat  he  must  pay  for  it  with  beans  or 
some  product  of  the  farm.  He  must  change  directly  too. 
He  could  not  think  of  selling  the  beans  for  money  and 
buying  the  coat,  for  that  would  be  paying  money  for  the 
coat.  Indeed,  he  has  well  nigh  dispensed  with  that  instru- 
ment of  civilization — money.  He  has  gone  back  so  far 
toward  barbarism  that  he  desires  to  barter  instead  of  buy 
and  sell  with  money.  Not  because  he  has  no  love  of 
money,  but  because  he  does  have  that  irrational  love  which 
becomes  the  "  root  of  all  evil." 

But  some  may  ask  how  that  can  be  the  root  of  all  evil 
which  owes  its  existence  to  a  God-given  instinct,  and  finds 
its  guarantee  in  an  eternal  law  of  nature. 

The  irrational  love  of  money  finds  its  guarantee  in  no 
law  or  instinct.  It  is  not  the  moderate  and  normal  love  of 
money  which  is  the  root  of  all  evil,  nor  is  such  love  an  evil 
at  all,  but  a  great  blessing. 


280  OUR  HOME. 

The  sentiment  of  economy  is  one  of  those  which  manifest 
themselves  within  very  narrow  limits.  It  seems  to  be 
always  leaning  to  the  one  side  or  the  other,  and  getting 
out  of  its  path.  It  is  apt  to  become  prodigality  or  penuri- 
ousness.  It  requires  much  skill  in  navigation  on  life's  sea 
to  sail  safely  between  these  two  rocks.  When  we  first 
embark  we  are  very  apt  to  run  against  the  rock  of  prodi- 
gality, but  after  we  have  had  more  experience,  unless  we 
profit  well  by  that  experience,  and  learn  the  golden  mean, 
we  are  prone  to  the  opposite  extreme  and  run  against  the 
rock  of  penuriousness.  It  is  the  inordinate  love  of  money 
for  its  own  sake  that  is  the  root  of  all  evil;  while  true 
economy  is  the  trusty  helm  that  guides  us  safely  between 
two  dark  and  threatening  rocks. 

This  disposition  to  hoard  money  for  its  own  sake,  inde- 
pendent of  its  proper  function,  is  not,  however,  to  be  wholly 
condemned.  There  is  a  ministry  of  good  in  the  very  con- 
sciousness of  possession.  It  is  usually  easy  to  distinguisli 
the  men  of  wealth  in  a  crowd  of  people,  by  their  bearing  of 
conscious  power.  It  is  the  natural  and  legitimate  condi- 
tion of  man  to  feel  that  he  is  in  a  certain  sense  the  con- 
queror and  possessor  of  nature. 

The  lion  is  called  the  king  of  beasts,  not  because  he  is 
the  largest  or  the  strongest,  but  because  he  calls  himself 
the  king  of  beasts.  He  does  this  by  his  noble  bearing,  and 
the  consciousness  of  power.  Now  man,  like  the  lion,  should 
feel  and  manifest  a  sense  of  power,  only  in  a  far  higher  de- 


ECONOMY  OF  HOME.  281 

gree.  It  is  this  conscious  power  manifesting  itself  in  the 
human  eye  which  accounts  for  the  fact  that  no  wild  beast 
can  withstand  the  human  gaze. 

All  that  is  necessary  to  cause  the  lion  to  skulk  away  to 
the  den  like  a  whipped  cur,  is  to  gaze  full  in  his  eye 
while  you  calmly  maintain  a  consciousness  of  victory  in  id 
superiority  over  all  that  moves  upon  the  earth. 

This  feeling  in  man  is  the  strongest  safeguard  against 
low  and  mean  acts.  It  places  one  above  meanness.  The 
lion  is  the  most  magnanimous  of  beasts.  He  never  does  a 
mean  act.  This  is  because  of  his  consciousness  of  power 
which  makes  him  feel  too  noble  to  be  mean. 

This,  then,  is  our  plea  for  wealth,  that  its  moderate  pos- 
session makes  men  noble  and  magnanimous.  One  noble, 
generous,  wealthy  man  in  a  community  is  sometimes  a 
source  of  inspiration  for  hundreds  of  young  men. 

Let  it  be  remarked,  however,  that  the  kind  of  wealth 
which  produces  this  desirable  result  is  that  which  is  born 
of  toil  and  economy.  No  man  can  become  suddenly 
wealthy  without  being  injured  thereby,  for  the  mode  of 
thought  and  the  whole  character  must  change  to  meet  the 
conditions  of  wealth.  Whole  new  lines  of  thought,  new 
schemes,  new -plans  of  life  must  be  originated,  and  this 
change  cannot  take  place  suddenly  without  too  great  a 
shock  to  the  character. 

We  claim  that  no  man  has  any  moral  right  to  extreme 
wealth.     No  man  can  possibly  have  any  moral  right  to 


881  OUR  HOME. 

anything  in  this  life  which  he  does  not  earn,  for  otherwise 
lie  must  trespass  on  the  rights  of  his  fellows. 

Men  are  born  destitute  of  all  possessions.  No  one  brings 
anything  into  the  world.  What  right,  then,  has  one  to 
her  riches  through  another's  toil  and  misfortune?  The 
man  who  has  the  ability  to  begin  with  nothing  and  accu- 
mulate ten  thousand  dollars  by  his  own  industry  and 
economy,  has  just  ability  enough  to  take  care  of  ten  thou- 
sand dollars  and  be  made  better  and  nobler  thereby. 

But  the  accumulation  of  wealth,  grand  as  is  its  possible 
ministry,  is  not,  by  any  means,  the  only  object  that  con- 
cerns the  instinct  and  spirit  of  economy. 

It  is  not  the  chief  object  of  the  economy  of  home.  The 
object  of  home  is  to  mold  character,  and  the  object  of  home 
economy  is,  or  should  be,  the  accumulation  of  all  those 
means  and  instrumentalities  that  minister  to  that  end. 

Those  things  which  minister  to  the  intellectual  and 
aesthetic  nature  are  as  properly  the  objects  of  the  economi- 
cal faculty  as  dollars  and  cents. 

Let  children  be  taught  to  believe  that  good  books  are 
among  the  most  desirable  of  earthly  possessions.  Let  them 
begin  to  accumulate  books  even  before  they  can  read.  It 
would  be  infinitely  better  than  to  give  them  a  little  bank 
and  teach  them  that  the  accumulation  of  coppers  is  all  that 
is  desirable.  They  may  be  allowed  to  vie  with  each  other 
in  the  accumulation  of  good  books  and  works  of  art,  and 
when  they  become  old  enough  to  appreciate  them,  they  will, 


ECONOMY  OF  HOME.  283 

perhaps,  have  a  respectable  library.  They  will  also  have 
what  is  far  better,  a  true  idea  of  life  and  its  significance. 

If  all  parents  would  follow  this  course  with  their  chil- 
dren, the  world's  mad  scramble  for  money  would  be  trans- 
ferred to  books,  facts,  principles,  thoughts,  beauty,  art, 
education,  culture,  righteousness,  and  all  that  can  lift  the 
soul,  and  bring  the  spirit  and  genius  of  humanity  nearer  to 
its  God. 

In  all  cases  the  children  should  be  made  to  earn  these 
books  with  their  own  hands,  that  they  may  early  learn  that 
labor  is  the  price  of  thought  as  well  as  of  bread.  They 
cannot  too  early  be  taught  that  labor  is  necessarily  the 
price  of  all  honest  possessions. 

"  Thus  is  it  over  all  the  earth, 
That  which  we  call  the  fairest, 
And  prize  for  its  surpassing  worth, 
Is  always  rarest. 

"  Iron  is  heaped  in  mountain  piles 
And  gluts  the  laggard  forges, 
But  gold-flakes  gleam  in  dim  defiles 
And  lonely  gorges. 

"  The  snowy  marble  flecks  the  land 
With  heaped  and  rounded  ledges, 
But  diamonds  hide  within  the  sand 
Their  starry  edges. 

"  The  finny  armies  clog  the  twine 
That  sweeps  the  lazy  river, 
But  pearls  come  singly  from  the  brine 
With  the  pale  diver. 

"  God  gives  no  value  unto  men 
Unmatched  by  meed  of  labor; 
And  cost  of  worth  has  ever  been  « 

The  closest  neighbor. 


Mi 


OUR  HOME. 


"  Were  every  hill  a  precious  mine, 
And  golden  all  the  mountains ; 
Were  all  the  rivers  fed  with  wine 
By  tireless  fountains; 

"  Life  would  be  ravished  of  its  zest, 
And  shorn  of  its  ambition, 
And  sink  into  the  dreamless  rest 
Of  inanition. 

"  Up  the  broad  stairs  that  value  rears, 
Stand  motives  beck'ning  earthward, 
To  summon  men  to  nobler  spheres, 
And  lead  them  worthward." 


1 


:i/%C 


HOME  ADORNMENTS. 


v9  AN  is  an  aesthetic  being.  The  love  of  beauty 
constitutes  a  vital  part  of  his  existence.  Not 
a  mere  appendage;  not  one  of  the  finishing 
touches  of  his  creation  that  might  have  been 
omitted  without  seriously  deranging  the  sym- 
metry of  the  whole, — but  it  constitutes  a  great 
motive  power  in  man's  constitution.  It  is 
the  uplifting  element ;  it  is  that  in  us  which 
makes  us  hunger  and  thirst  after  perfection 
of  character. 

The  law  of  beauty  is  the  law  of  complete- 
ness, and  that  law  in  the  soul  gives  the  desire 
for  spiritual  completeness  and  perfection. 

The  law  of  material  beauty  is,  doubtless, 
that  by  which  matter  tends  to  assume  the 
form  of  completeness,  which  is  that  of  the 
circle.  The  circle  everywhere  prevails.  Na- 
ture always  makes  a  perfect  circle  when  she 
can ;  and  when  she  cannot  she  usually  makes 
a  compromise  with  the  opposing  forces  and  together  they 
make  an  ellipse,  or  some  form  of  the  curve.     The  stars  are 


5 


286  OUR  HOME. 

spheres;  atoms  are  by  common  consent  regarded  as  spheres. 
The  paths  of  all  the  heavenly  bodies  are  ellipses.  The 
transverse  sections  of  trees  and  almost  all  forms  of  vegeta- 
bles are  circular.  Most  of  the  animal  tissues  are  circular, 
or  are  made  up  of  circular  parts. 

But  it  is  not  alone  in  the  geometrical  figure  that  we  see 
the  spirit  of  the  circle.  We  see  it  in  the  repetitions  of 
history,  in  the  ceaseless  round  of  the  seasons,  in  the  death 
and  resurrection  of  the  roses,  in  the  successive  pulses  of 
music,  in  colors  that  suggest  their  complements,  in  the  bud 
that  suggests  the  completion  of  the  flower,  in  the  unuttera- 
ble emotions  that  come  to  us  while  gazing  upon  the  "breath- 
ing canvas  and  speaking  marble,"  in  the  soul-lifting  sugges- 
tion of  the  poet's  metaphor,  which  is  always  the  segment 
that  completes  a  circle  of  consistent  thought. 

It  is  our  imagination  that  supplies  these  missing  seg- 
ments, and  accordingly  imagination  and  fancy  are  found  to 
be  essential  faculties  in  the  production  or  appreciation  of 
beauty.  Imagination  is  that  faculty  which  gives  us  a 
desire  to  complete  all  our  mental  operations,  and  thus  give 
to  them  something  of  the  spirit  of  the  circle.  The  law  of 
uty  is  nature's  imagination,  which  tends  to  complete  all 
her  operations  and  give  to  everything  a  circular  tendency. 

Since,  then,  the  principle  of  beauty  is  so  far-reaching  in 
nature,  and  since  it  forms  so  large  and  vital  a  part  of  man's 
nature,  is  not  its  cultivation  of  the  utmost  importance  ? 
We  cannot  do  violence  to  this  part  of  our  nature  without 


HOME  ADORNMENTS.  287 

violating  the  whole.  To  withhold  the  influences  that  tend 
to  develop  a  love  of  beauty  is  as  sure  to  cause  a  one-sided 
and  un symmetrical  growth,  as  to  withhold  a  needed  ele- 
ment of  food.  Beauty  is  one  of  the  elements  of  the  soul's 
food.  The  cultivation  of  beauty  in  the  soul  requires  no 
costly  tutorage.  Beauty's  lessons  may  be  learned  without 
a  teacher.  The  universe  is  one  vast  cabinet  open  to  our 
inspection.  Every  gate  of  nature  turns  upon  golden 
hinges.  The  sky  each  morning  is  broidered  by  the  rosy 
fingers  of  the  dawn,  arid  every  evening  the  sun,  amid 
beauty  that  awes  the  soul  to  silence,  like  a  gallant  knight 
rides  down  the  perilous  cataract  of  molten  gold.  The 
beauty  of  the  clouds,  the  sweet  simplicity  of  nature's 
drab  dress,  is  past  all  description  of  novelist  or  poet.  A 
spirit  may  grow  divine  by  gazing  on  the  clouds,  and  it 
costs  us  nothing  to  appropriate  this  beauty  except  the 
trouble  of  taking  our  nooning  in  the  open  air.  There  is  a 
flower  in  every  nook  and  corner  of  nature's  domain,  which 
it  costs  us  nothing  to  look  at. 

But  it  is  not  alone  in  nature  that  beauty  may  minister 
to  our  souls.  It  is  the  chief  object  of  this  chapter  to  show, 
in  a  general  way,  how  art  may  serve  this  purpose. 

Nature  hangs  no  landscapes  on  our  parlor  walls,  nor  does 
she  set  bouquets  in  our  windows.  She  will  cause  the 
bouquets  to  grow  and  blossom,  however,  if  we  will  but  take 
the  trouble  to  plant  them. 

Flowers  are  the  soul's  best  friends.     There  is  the  breath 


288  OUR  HOME. 

of  the  angels  on  their  petals.  It  is  needless  to  contend 
that  there  is  no  deep  meaning  in  the  tribute  which  the  uni- 
versal heart  of  man  in  all  ages  has  paid  to  flowers. 

A  flower  garden  is  within  the  reach  of  every  family  that 
has  the  control  of  a  house ;  for  the  beds  may  be  made 
close  about  the  house,  and  there  are  few  tenements  even  in 
the  denser  parts  of  cities  where  there  is  not  a  sufficient 
quantity  of  land  for  a  flower-bed. 

Notwithstanding  the  fact  that  there  has  been  much  dis- 
cussion concerning  the  wholesomeness  of  house  plants,  it  is 

vertheless  the  opinion  of  the  most  eminent  scientists 
that  they  are  positively  beneficial  to  health.  Indeed,  to 
suppose  otherwise  would  be  a  violation  of  the  logic  of 
analogy,  for  the  whole  vegetable  kingdom  constantly  con- 
sumes carbonic  acid,  an  invisible  gas  which  is  poisonous  to 
us,  but  which  constitutes  the  food  of  plants.  They  also 
exhale  oxygen,  which  is  the  all-sustaining  element  of  ani- 
mal life,  and  which  in  civilized  homes  is  usually  deficient, 
owing  to  the  lack  of  proper  ventilation.  Thus  house  plants 
in  part  neutralize  the  bad  effects  of  imperfect  ventilation. 
One  of  the  most  striking  provisions  of  nature  is  seen  in 
the  mutual  adaptation  of  plants  and  animals.  Plants  give 
to  us  just  what  we  require,  while  we  give  to  them  just 
what  they  require.  How  admirably  then  are  men  and 
plants  adapted  to  live  together. 

The  beauty   of  art   is   not   alone   for   the   mansion   of 

alth.    Artistic  and  tasteful  adornments  are  the  products 


HOME  ADORNMENTS.  289 

of  ingenuity  and  not  of  wealth.  Trees  may  be  planted 
about  the  house,  also  vines  and  roses.  Arbors  and  shady 
nooks  may  be  made  to  render  home  attractive,  and  to  give 
an  added  charm  in  after  years  to  its  memories.  It  is  true 
that  "  be  it  ever  so  humble  there's  no  place  like  home," 
but  that  home  would  be  sweeter  and  would  touch  a  ten- 
derer chord  in  the  spirit's  harp  if  we  could  look  back  to 
a  cottage  vine-wreathed  and  rosy-decked.  There  is  some- 
thing in  the  nature  of  beauty  when  it  surrounds  our  early 
home,  that  never  loses  its  power,  and  never  ceases  to  exert 
a  molding  influence  over  us. 

There  is  no  end  to  the  tasty  and  pleasing  devices  by 
which  an  intelligent  wife  or  daughter  may  adorn  a  home, 
and  that  with  little  expense  beyond  the  time  it  requires, 
and  this  is  usually  mere  pastime.  The  plot  about  the 
house  may  be  either  a  sand  desert  covered  with  barrel 
hoops,  broken  cart  wheels,  and  decaying  rubbish,  or  it  may 
be  clean,  wholesome,  and  beautiful.  One  cannot  live  in  a 
wretched  hovel  where  there  is  no -beauty,  where  the  lawn 
suggests  a  lumber  yard,  a  cattle  yard,  and  a  slaughter 
yard  combined,  without  sharing  in  the  degradation  of  the 
surroundings. 

It  is  as  much  the  duty  of  parents,  then,  to  adorn  and 
beautify  their  home  as  it  is  to  keep  the  moral  atmosphere 
of  that  home  pure. 

Indeed,  the  latter  cannot  exist  without  the  former.  The 
best  characters  and  the  noblest  men  come  from  the  modest 


290  OUR  HOME. 

homes  which  taste,  refinement,  and   labor  have  adorned 
and  beautified. 

Beauty  is  a  positive  force,  a  developing  potency  in  the 
universe.  The  language  of  beauty  everywhere  is  the  lan- 
guage of  aspiration.  If  our  dull  ears  could  be  quickened 
till  we  could  hear  and  understand  the  divine  dialect  of  the 
opening  flowers,  we  should  hear  them  say  : — 

"  All  things  have  their  mission,  and  God  gives  us  ours, 
And  this  is  a  part  of  the  mission  of  flowers: 
To  give  life  to  the  weary  and  hope  to  the  sad, 
Fresh  faith  to  the  faithless,  new  joys  to  the  glad; 
To  cheer  the  desponding,  give  strength  to  the  weak; 
To  bring  health's  bright  bloom  to  the  invalid's  cheek; 
To  blush  on  the  brow  of  the  beautiful  bride; 
To  cheer  homes  of  mourning  where  sorrows  betide; 
To  rob  dreaded  death  of  a  part  of  his  gloom, 
By  decking  the  dear  one  arrayed  for  the  tomb ; 
To  furnish  the  home  with  a  lasting  delight, 
With  our  perfumes  so  lovely,  our  blossoms  so  bright; 
To  hallow  the  homestead,  embellish  the  lawn, 
Reflecting  the  tints  of  the  roseate  dawn." 


DIGNITY  AT  HOME. 


|IGNITY  is  self-respect,  or  rather  the  mani- 
festation of  self-respect.  It  is  the  involuntary 
and  unconscious  expression  of  one's  appraisal 
of  himself.  Hence  dignity  may  be  called  a 
secondary  or  dependent  virtue.  It  is  not  in 
itself  a  cardinal  virtue,  but  the  language  of 
one.  Politeness  is  not  absolutely  necessary 
to  a  noble  character,  but  that  virtue  of  which 
politeness  is  the  expression  is  one  of  the 
grandest  in  the  world.  It  is  that  of  benevo- 
lence. 

In  exhorting  one  to  be  polite,  it  is  more 
philosophical  to  exhort  him  to  cultivate  the 
Christian  grace  of  benevolence  than  merely  to  study  eti- 
quette. So  with  dignity.  There  is  no  use  in  studying  the 
postures,  gestures,  and  bearing  of  dignity,  if  there  be  not 
behind  it  the  true  source  of  dignity,  self-respect.  It  is  dis- 
honest to  appear  to  be  what  we  are  not ;  and  if  we  have 
not  the  true  spirit  of  dignity,  it  is  better  for  us  to  appear 
undignified.  Then  the  world  will  know  better  how  to 
measure  our  worth.     Artificial  dignity  and  artificial  polite- 


OUR  HOME. 

ness  are  to  be  condemned  as  dishonest  and  hypocritical. 
Let  young  men  and  women  be  dignified,  but  let  it  be  a 
true  expression  of  their  self-respect.  Self-confidence  is  a 
trait  of  character  whose  worth  is  usually  underestimated, 
especially  in  the  young.  At  some  stage  of  their  mental 
growth,  young  men  are  almost  always  considered  con- 
ceited; but  in  the  majority  of  cases  the  conduct  that  gives 
rise  to  this  belief  originates  in  other  sentiments  than  that 
of  self-esteem.  Most  people  have  this  element  of  their 
character  too  feebly  developed.  The  more  self-esteem  one 
possesses,  if  he  be  not  haughty  and  overbearing,  the  better. 
This  function  of  the  mind  gives  us  noble  thoughts,  and 
makes  us  hate  anything  that  is  low  or  mean.  It  makes  the 
possessor  feel  that  he  is  better  than  any  mean  act;  hence 
it  is  one  of  the  strongest  fortifications  of  virtue. 

The  dignified  man  always  receives  more  respect  than  the 
undignified.  Society  is  inclined  to  take  a  man  at  his  own 
appraisal.  The  world,  while  it  may  question  a  man's  claims 
to  its  homage,  always  believes  all  the  accusations  which  he 
brings  against  himself,  and  if  a  man  by  his  downcast  head, 
his  low  and  mean  associates,  his  vulgar  thoughts  and  pro- 
fane words,  in  short,  by  his  lack  of  dignity,  proclaims  to 
the  world  that  he  is  unworthy  of  its  esteem,  it  will  surely 
take  him  at  his  word. 

To  the  dignified  man  everything  that  he  does  becomes 
dignified.  If  he  is  a  wood-chopper,  then  wood-chopping 
becomes    as    dignified    and    honorable    as    statesmanship. 


DIGNITY  AT  HOME.  293 

Wherever  the  dignified  man  or  woman  goes,  there  goes 
before  a  sense  of  honor  and  respect.  He  seems  to  be  a 
kind  of  balance  wheel  to  the  society  in  which  he  moves. 
The  laugh  is  never  too  long  or  loud;  mirth  and  hilarity 
never  go  too  far  when  he  is  present.  At  the  same  time  he 
is  not  a  burden  or  a  painful  restraint  upon  the  natural  flow 
of  sentiment,  and  the  play  of  social  forces. 

Nations  and  individuals  usually  attain  a  height  corre- 
sponding to  their  own  ideals.  The  beautiful,  ideal  life  of 
the  Greek  was  the  necessary  prelude  to  the  glorious  reality, 
and  those  individuals  who  have  climbed  the  rugged  heights 
and  poised  themselves  on  glory's  giddy  summit,  have  been 
those  who  with  bleeding  feet,  calloused  hands,  and  toiling 
brains  have  worked  out  a  cherished  ideal.  The  dignity  of 
a  being  measures  the  worth  of  his  life's  ideal.  So  that, 
other  things  being  equal,  he  who  is  most  dignified  is  most 
rapidly  advancing  along  the  path  of  his  own  possibilities. 

These  facts  are  as  applicable  to  the  little  world  of  home 
as  to  the  great  world  of  human  society.  The  boy  who  is 
dignified  at  home  receives  the  confidence  of  his  sisters, 
brothers,  and  parents.  Just  as  the  world  takes  the  man  at 
his  own  price,  and  grants  its  confidence  only  as  his  dig- 
nity shows  him  worthy  of  it,  so  the  parent  takes  the  child 
at  his  own  price.  In  proportion  as  children  are  dignified 
will  parents  grant  them  liberties,  and  place  them  in  posi- 
tions of  honor  and  trust  in  the  family  economy.  The  dig- 
nified girl  need  not  be  a  premature  woman.     She  may 


OUR  HOME. 

romp  and  play  with  her  brothers,  as  she  should  do,  and 
still  be  dignified.  Dignity,  as  we  have  intimated,  does  not 
consist  of  outward  acts ;  it  has  no  necessary  ritual ;  it  is 
not  "  studied  gestures  or  well-practiced  smiles." 

The  father  who  gets  down  on  the  floor  to  please  his 
little  child  is  not  undignified.  The  mother  who  joins  in 
the  happy  sports  of  her  children,  even  with  all  the  mirth 
and  merriment  of  her  early  girlhood,  is  not  undignified  so 
long  as  she  has  a  noble  purpose  in  life,  and  sees  a  grand 
object  in  being. 

Indeed,  we  believe  that  those  who  walk  with  measured 
step,  and  whose  faces  suggest  a  lengthened  cloud,  are  not 
the  finest  embodiments  of  true  dignity.  Everything  which 
is  counterfeit  betrays  its  spuriousness,  whatever  may  be 
the  skill  of  the  counterfeiter.  The  sly,  giggling,  and  sim- 
pering false  modesty  need  never  be  mistaken  for  the  open 
frankness  and  fearlessness  of  true  modesty.  So  there  is 
always  something  about  the  bearing  of  a  false  dignity  that 
betrays  it.  It  is  false  dignity  that  cannot  afford  to  smile, 
but  true  dignity  can  afford  to  be  light  hearted.  We  find 
it  enthroned  upon  the  mother's  brow  as  she  shakes  the 
rat  tie,  and  smiles  and  creeps  upon  the  floor  to  please  her 
baby.  But  how  grandly,  when  suddenly  called  upon  to 
perform  a  higher  duty,  does  she  step  out  of  the  enchanted 
atmosphere  of  her  baby's  life,  unwreathe  the  nursery  smiles 
from  her  face,  and  stand  forth  in  the  glory  of  her  woman- 
hood.    It  is  then  that  she  displays  a  dignity  that  awes  us. 


DIGNITY  A  T  HOME.  295 

a  dignity  before  which  the  vile  insulter  slinks  back  like 
the  hyena  at  the  gaze  of  day. 

This  is  what  we  mean  by  dignity.  It  is  something 
which  the  little  girl  may  cultivate  as  much  as  she  chooses. 
It  will  not  hurt  her.  It  will  not  make  her  prematurely 
old.  It  will  not  cause  her  to  ripen  too  quickly  like  a 
shriveled  fall  apple,  but  it  will  help  to  develop  her  and 
make  her  a  true  and  noble  woman. 

There  is  always  a  certain  degree  of  reserve  that  accom- 
panies true  dignity,  so  that  its  possessor  is  never  quite 
transparent.  He  may  be,  and  in  fact  must  be,  free,  open 
and  social,  but  there  is  always  a  reserved  force  of  individ- 
uality. He  may  be  translucent,  but  not  transparent.  And 
there  is  always  a  charm  in  that  which  we  have  almost  but 
not  quite  seen.  Hence  the  mind  of  the  dignified  man  is 
an  inexhaustible  fountain  of  pleasure  to  his  friends.  He  is 
always  courted  and  never  shunned.  The  boy  who  is  dig- 
nified will  be  a  central  figure  among  his  brothers  and  sis- 
ters and  schoolmates. 

There  are  certain  virtues  that  have  corresponding  vices, 
resulting  not  from  the  absence  but  from  the  excess  or 
wrong  direction  of  the  virtue.  Dignity  is  one  of  those  pe- 
culiar virtues,  separated  from  the  vice  of  conceit  only  by  a 
thin  veil.  Economy  is  a  virtue  that  all  boys  and  girls  are 
exhorted  to  cultivate,  but  how  thin  is  the  partition  that 
separates  this  virtue  from  the  hateful  vice  of  penurious- 
ness,  that  vice  which  has  shriveled  the   soul  of  many  a 


our  no  mi:. 

miser  like  the  foliage  of  a  girdled  tree.  Even  the  worship 
of  God  may  be  but  a  hair's  breadth  from  idolatry.  The 
flower  of  every  virtue  grows  close  to  the  precipice  of  a 
vice. 

It  is  a  law  without  exception  that  the  lower  the  plane 
the  more  stable  the  virtue,  while  the  higher  the  plane,  the 
more  unstable. 

The  heavenly  gift  of  love  trembles  over  the  abyss  of 
sensuality,  while  the  crowning  sentiment  of  divine  worship 
is  easily  tumbled  from  its  lofty  pedestal  into  the  mire  of 
idolatry. 

Hence  dignity  finds  its  highest  complement  in  the  fact 
that  it  is  separated  by  a  thin  partition  from  the  vice  of 
pride  and  haughtiness.  Let  us  then  cultivate  dignity,  but 
weed  the  flower  with  a  careful  hand. 

A  man  of  haughty  spirit  is  daily  adding  to  his  enemies; 

He  standeth  as  an  Arab  in  the  desert,  and  the  hands  of  all  men  are  against  him. 

A  man  of  a  base  mind  daily  subtracteth  from  his  friends, 

For  he  holdeth  himself  so  cheaply,  that  others  learn  to  despise  him. 

But  where  the  meekness  of  self-knowledge  veileth  the  front  of  self-respect, 

There  look  thou  for  the  man  whom  none  can  know  but  they  will  honor. 

Humility  is  the  softening  shadow  before  the  statue  of  Excellence, 

And  lieth  lowly  on  the  ground,  beloved  and  lovely  as  the  violet. 


mS. 


SUCCESS  OR  FAILURE 
FORESHADOWED    AT    HOME. 


i  UCCESS  and  failure  are  relative  terms.  What 
would  be  success  to  one  might  be  failure  to 
another.  Success  is  simply  the  best  possible 
results  under  existing  circumstances.  He 
who  was  born  without  the  use  of  his  arms 
and  hands,  and  also  without  artistic  ability, 
and  yet  who,  by  patient  effort,  has  learned  to 
write  with  his  toes,  even  though  his  writing 
be  but  a  miserable  scrawl,  if  it  be  legible,  has 
surely  achieved  a  wonderful  success  in  the 
art  of  penmanship.  But  for  him  who  possesses  the  free 
use  of  his  hands,  and  has  in  addition  the  taste  of  an 
artist,  such  a  result  would  certainly  be  but  moderate  suc- 
cess. The  pious  rural  maiden,  who  spends  her  life  in 
ministering  to  the  sick,  the  poor,  and  the  ignorant  in  her 
little  neighborhood,  even  though  her  name  is  never  heard 
beyond  a  radius  of  ten  miles,  has  achieved  a  success  of 
which  the  record  is  in  heaven,  but  had  she  been  endowed 
with  the  ten  talents  that  God  gave  to  Florence  Nightin- 
gale, she  surely  would  have  shuddered  to  offer  so  meager  a 
return  to  her  master. 


298  OUR  HOME. 

When  one  asks  himself  the  question,  "Can  I  succeed?" 
he  must  have  before  his  mind  a  definite  standard  of  suc- 
cess, or  his  words  become  meaningless.  Circumstances 
and  native  ability  must  determine  the  scope  of  the  ques- 
tion. The  first  stage  in  all  success  is  a  preparation  for 
success,  and  the  number  of  stages  is  limited  only  by 
natural  capacity  and  length  of  life.  He  who  has  prepared 
for  success,  even  though  it  has  required  his  lifetime,  has 
succeeded  better  than  he  who  has  passed  over  a  thou- 
sand stages,  but  has  missed  one  stage  that  he  might  have 


According  to  this  definition  of  success,  which  is  the  only 
proper  one,  all  may  succeed,  and  failure  is  never  necessary. 
All  can  certainly  do  their  best,  and  the  result  will  be  suc- 
cess. Failure,  as  the  word  implies,  is  simply  the  failure  to 
act  according  to  our  highest  possibilities.  The  world  is 
full  of  the  brilliant  failures  of  fortune's  sons — those  who 
seemingly  possessed  every  advantage  that  fate  could  be- 
stow. On  the  other  hand,  the  poor-house  has  been  the 
theater  of  many  a  sublime  success. 

He  has  succeeded  well  who  has  met  and  conquered  the 
dark  hosts  of  evil  passions  that  assail  so  many  unfortunate 
souls.  If  he  has  subdued  self,  that  mightiest  enemy  of 
humanity,  he  may  count  his  life  a  grand  success,  even 
though  the  victory  came  but  with  the  death  angel's  rein- 
forcement. Success  is  his  if  he  can  greet  his  stern  ally 
thus  : — 


SUCCESS  OR  FAILURE.  299 

"  Were  the  whole  world  to  come  before  me  now,— 
Wealth  with  its  treasures;  pleasure  with  its  cup; 
Power  robed  iu  purple;  beauty  in  its  pride; 
And  with  love's  sweetest  blossoms  garlanded ; 
Fame  with  its  bays,  and  glory  with  its  crown, — 
To  tempt  me  lifeward,  I  would  turn  away, 
And  stretch  my  hands  with  utter  eagerness 
Toward  the  pale  angel  waiting  for  me  now, 
And  give  myself  to  him,  to  be  led  out 
Serenely  singing  to  the  land  of  shade." 

We  are  glad,  however,  that  the  world  contains  but  few 
who  must  buy  success  at  such  an  awful  price. 

Success  or  failure  is  the  natural  fruit  of  character.  The 
apple  tree  cannot  bear  anything  but  apples,  neither  can  a 
good  character  bear  anything  but  success.  Failure  is  the 
only  fruit  we  can  reasonably  expect  to  reap  from  a  bad 
character. 

But  some  may  object  to  this,  and  point  us  to  the  fre- 
quent and  brilliant  success  of  bad  men ;  but  what  they 
would  call  success  would  not  probably  fall  within  our  defi- 
nition. If  dishonest  acquisition  is  success,  then  is  the 
highway  robber  the  most  successful  of  men  ;  and  on  that 
roll  of  honor  the  brute-hearted  pirate  must  be  allowed  to 
write  his  name.  Hence  the  word  success  loses  all  signifi- 
cance unless  we  restrict  it  at  least  to  honest  acquisition. 
This  must  be  dope  even  by  those  who  claim  that  dollars 
and  cents  are  its  only  standard.  Yes,  it  is  character  that 
determines  our  success  or  failure.  Our  deeds,  both  the 
good  and  the  bad,  are  the  visible  herd  which  the  unseen 
shepherd,  character,  drives  across  the  desert  of  our  lives. 


300  OUR  HOME. 

If  lie  be  a  good  shepherd,  the  herd  also  will  be  good,  and, 
fearless  of  the  prowling  wolf,  will  move  in  orderly  proces- 
sion straight  to  the  fold  of  success;  but  if  he  is  a  bad  shep- 
herd, the  flock  will  not  obey  him,  but  will  scatter  in  wild 
confusion,  and  hide  themselves  in  the  dark  and  noisome 
caves  of  failure. 

Since,  then,  it  is  the  character  that  brings  us  success  or 
failure,  we  must  go  where  characters  are  formed,  to  the 
home,  in  order  to  speak  our  words  of  warning  and  advice. 

The  chief  cause  of  all  failures  is  a  lack  of  persistency. 
He  who  begins  life  as  a  fruit  vender,  wkh  nothing  but  a 
persistent  mind,  has  a  better  chance  of  success  in  life,  than 
he  who  begins  with  a  million  dollars  and  a  vacillating  mind. 

In  America,  financial  success  is  possible  to  every  young 
man  of  ordinary  ability.  It  is  certainly  important  that  he 
should  choose  the  vocation  for  which  nature  has  best  fitted 
him,  but  it  is  far  more  important  that  he  persist  in  the  one 
which  he  does  choose. 

There  are  certain  excesses  and  deficiencies  which  are 
national  peculiarities,  and  this  lack  of  persistency  is  surely 
a  deficiency  in  Americans.  With  the  Germans  the  reverse 
is  true,  thoroughness  with  them  is  almost  an  excess.  Fail- 
ures are  very  rare  in  Germany,  because  every  man  is  so 
thoroughly  taught  in  his  one  special  subject  that  he  has 
the  advantage  both  of  a  perfect  knowledge  of  his  business, 
and  a  natural  tendency  to  be  contented  for  life  with  one 
occupation. 


SUCCESS  OR  FAILURE.  301 

By  failures  we  do  not  mean  what  is  generally  called  a 
"  financial  failure."  But  rather  the  failure  to  do  justice  to 
one's  native  powers,  failure  to  attain  to  what  most  men 
regard  as  success. 

Perhaps  there  are  more  failures  of  this  kind  among 
Americans  in  proportion  to  the  population,  than  among 
any  other  people  in  the  world,  and  the  fact  accords  well 
with  their  known  fickleness. 

The  young  American  has  much  difficulty  in  deciding 
what  occupation  he  shall  follow.  He  is  usually  undecided 
whether  he  shall  be  a  shoe-maker  or  statesman.  He  gener- 
ally thinks  quite  favorably  of  all  the  intermediate  trades 
and  professions.  As  a  rule,  he  tries  as  many  of  these  as 
time  and  circumstances  will  permit.  He  enters  a  store  as 
a  clerk,  and  while  the  novelty  lasts  his  mind  is  fully  made 
up  that  he  will  be  a  merchant,  and  have  a  store  on  Broad- 
way, but  after  a  time  his  work  becomes  prose  instead  of 
poetry.  His  hasty  decision  was  based  on  no  abiding  rela- 
tion between  himself  and  trade.  He  leaves  the  store  and 
obtains  a  position  in  a  bank,  and  immediately  he  decides 
that  he  will  be  a  great  banker.  He  reads  and  studies 
about  the  mysteries  of  Wall  Street.  But  in  a  few  weeks  or 
months  it  occurs  to  him  that  he  didn't  stop  to  measure  the 
distance  between  a  chore  boy  in  a  country  bank  and  a 
great  stock  operator  on  Wall  Street,  so  he  thinks  he  won't 
be  a  banker  or  a  broker,  but  perhaps  decides  to  be  a  printer, 
and  goes  into  a  printing  office  fully  determined  that  he  has 


OUR  HOME. 

at  last  found  out  what  nature  intended  to  do  with  him. 
He  is  well  satisfied  for  a  time.  He  reads  the  life  of 
Benjamin  Franklin.  His  ambition  is  awakened.  He  be- 
gins to  see,  too,  that  the  printer  is  only  the  servant  of  the 
writer.  This  touches  his  pride,  and  he  conceives  the  idea 
of  going  to  college,  and  becoming  a  great  writer  and 
speaker.  So  his  father's  little  farm  is  mortgaged  and  he 
starts  for  college,  carrying  with  him  that  same  indecision, 
and  after  four  years  of  aimless  study  comes  home  to 
choose  his  life  work,  having  forgotten  all  about  his  last 
resolution  to  be  a  great  writer.  So  habituated  has  he  be- 
come to  frequent  change  of  occupation,  that  it  is  now  abso- 
lutely impossible  for  him  to  be  satisfied  in  any  sphere  of 
life. 

There  is  no  objection  to  a  mere  change  of  occupation  if 
circumstances  render  it  desirable.  The  evil  is  in  the  men- 
tal condition  that  prompts  a  change.  A  young  man  may 
be  a  clerk,  a  banker  and  a  printer  if  he  chooses,  and  be  the 
better  for  it,  provided  these  occupations  are  used  simply  as 
means  for  the  accomplishment  of  some  definite  and  specific 
purpose.  If  a  boy  chooses  to  be  a  printer,  let  him  be  a 
printer,  and  if  circumstances  render  it  necessary  or  desira- 
ble that  he  should  for  a  time  engage  in  some  other  occupa- 
tion, let  him  do  it  feeling  that  he  is  simply  for  a  time  work- 
ing out  of  his  element.  It  is  the  mental  change,  the 
change  of  motive  and  desire,  and  not  the  mere  physical 
change  which  produces  the  best  result. 


SUCCESS  OR  FAILURE.  303 

Now,  since  success  and  failure  are  products  of  the  char- 
acter, and  since  character  is  formed  by  the  influences  of 
homey  it  is  easy  to  determine  with  approximate  certainty 
from  an  inspection  of  the  home,  what  are  the  prospects  of 
success  or  failure  in  life. 

Moreover,  one  derives  a  feeling  of  fortunate  relief  from 
the  thought  that  all  evils  which  can  be  foreseen,  and  which 
owe  their  origin  to  human  volition,  can  be  prevented. 

Children  should  be  (aught  the  importance  of  persistency. 
It  is  not  necessary  that  they  should  early  choose  their 
vocation ;  yet  it  is  necessary  that  when  they  do  choose  it, 
they  should  choose  it  for  life.  An  occupation  once  chosen 
should  be  entered  upon  with  a  feeling  that  there  is  no 
other  occupation.  The  ships  should  be  burned  behind.  So 
long  as  there  is  in  the  mind  a  lingering  thought  that  after 
all  some  other  occupation  will  constitute  the  life  work, 
failure  is  almost  certain,  for  the  mind  is  not  concentrated, 
and  its  acts  are  like  the  acts  of  those  who  are  half  in  jest. 

Young  men  who  contemplate  a  profession  are  sometimes 
advised  to  learn  some  trade  first,  then,  they  are  told,  if  they 
fail  in  the  profession  they  will  have  something  to  "fall 
back  on."  This  is  a  first  rate  way  to  make  certain  their 
failure  in  the  profession.  If  you  wish  to  ensure  the  defeat 
of  an  army  make  elaborate  preparations  for  an  easy  retreat, 
but  if  you  wish  to  make  them  invincible,  tear  up  the  roads 
and  burn  the  bridges  behind  them.  So  if  you  would  en- 
sure success  in  your  boy's  career  don't  foster  nor  tolerate 


OUR  HOME. 

the  feeling  that  it  isn't  absolutely  necessary  that  he  should 
succeed  in  that  particular  trade  or  profession. 

But  what  if  the  man  has  made  a  mistake?  Suppose  he 
has  entered  the  medical  profession,  and  then  discovers  that 
he  was  doubtless  intended  for  the  law  ?  J  a  that  case  it  is 
a  matter  to  be  settled  by  his  own  judgment  and  the  advice 
of  his  friends  whether  he  shall  continue  in  the  medical 
profession  or  change  to  the  law.  If  he  is  young  and  cir- 
cumstances are  favorable,  perhaps  it  would  be  advisable  to 
make  the  change.     It  would  not  as  a  rule  be  advisable. 

We  have  said  that  it  is  less  important  that  a  young 
man  should  choose  just  the  occupation  for  which  he  is  best 
adapted,  than  that  he  persist  in  the  one  which  he  does 
choose.  There  may  be  exceptions  to  this,  but  it  is  true  as 
a  rule,  from  the  very  fact  that  without  persistency  failure  is 
certain,  even  in  the  occupation  for  which  he  is  best  adapted. 
With  persistency  he  is  sure  of  a  moderate  success  at  least, 
even  in  the  vocation  to  which  he  is  poorly  adapted ;  but 
without  this  quality  he  is  sure  of  failure  in  any  vocation. 

We  would  not  convey  the  impression  that  we  attach  but 
little  importance  to  the  right  choice  of  pursuits.  There 
are  few  things  in  human  life  more  important  than  a  right 
matrimonial  selection,  and  yet  it  is  far  less  important  than 
a  firm  determination  to  live  through  life  peacefully  and 
lovingly  with  the  one  who  has  been  chosen ;  so  it  is  very 
questionable  whether  one  should  attempt  to  correct  any 
mistake  that  may  have  been  made  in  choosing  his  calling. 


SUCCESS  OR  FAILURE.  305 

It  is  not  to  be  presumed  that  the  young  man  has  made 
any  mistake  in  the  choice  of  his  occupation.  If  he  has 
been  advised  and  counseled  by  wise  and  cautious  parents, 
there  is  but  little  probability  that  he  has  made  a  wrong 
choice.  Nature  has  so  kindly  and  wisely  blended  our 
tastes  and  talents  that  what  we  desire  to  do  most,  that,  as 
a  rule,  we  can  do  best. 

But  unmingled  success  is  not  always  the  best  thing  for 
a  young  man.  There  are  few  who  would  not  be  spoiled 
by  it.  There  is  hardly  a  great  orator  whose  biography 
does  not  contain  some  story  of  an  early  failure.  He  who 
has  never  failed  is  necessarily  a  weak  man.  Temporary 
failure  is  the  best  cure  for  egotism.  It  reduces  our  stand- 
ard of  self  measurement  to  the  denominations  of  the 
world's  system. 

Temporary  failure  sustains  the  same  relation  to  the 
character  that  sorrow  does ;  if  not  administered  in  over- 
doses, it  strengthens  and  develops. 

"  What  most  men  covet,  wealth,  distinction,  power, 

Are  bawbles  nothing  worth;  they  only  serve 

To  rouse  us  up,  as  children  at  the  school 

Are  roused  up  to  exertion ;  our  reward 

Is  in  the  race  we  run,  not  in  the  prize. 

Those  few,  to  whom  is  given  what  they  ne'er  earned, 

Having  by  favor  or  inheritance 

The  dangerous  gifts  placed  in  their  hands, 

Know  not,  nor  ever  can,  the  generous  pride 

That  glows  in  him  who  on  himself  relies. 

Entering  the  lists  of  life,  he  speeds  beyond 

Them  all,  and  foremost  in  the  race  succeeds. 

His  joy  is  not  that  he  has  got  his  crown, 

But  that  the  power  to  win  the  crown  is  his." 
20 


FALLACIES  ABOUT  GENIUS. 


yENIUS  may  be  defined  as  an  irrepressible  im- 
pulse to  work  for  work's  sake.  He  whose 
whole  soul  does  not  quiver  in  response  to 
the  very  name  of  work  is  not  a  genius  and 
never  can  be. 

There  is,  perhaps,  nothing  that  more  forci- 
bly betrays  the  weakness  and  folly  of  human 
nature  than  the  tendency  in  almost  every 
young  man,  to  fancy  himself  a  genius  and  hence  beyond 
the  necessity  of  labor.  The  object  of  this  chapter  is  to  ex- 
pose that  folly,  and  to  show  the  wide-spread  misconception 
concerning  the  nature  of  genius. 

If  work  costs  you  effort,  you  may  be  talented  but  you 
are  not  a  genius.  If  it  is  easy  for  you  to  work,  and  costs 
but  little  self-denial,  you  are  on  the  border-land  of  genius: 
but  if  you  cannot  help  working,  if  work  is  your  spirit's 
breath,  if  when  the  spell  is  upon  you  the  very  spheres  must 
hush  their  music  to  give  you  sleep,  if  the  insanity  of  cease- 
less impulse  lays  its  frenzied  fingers  on  your  brain  at  mid- 
night, you  may  pitch  your  tent  upon  the  star-lit  heights, 
and  your  mission  is  to  reach  up  to  God  and  down  to  man. 
Great  achievements,  although  they  always   accompany 


FALLACIES  ABOUT  GENIUS.  307 

genius,  do  not  constitute  it,  they  only  indicate  it,  they  are 
the  natural  language,  the  gestures  of  genius. 

We  are  told  that  intense  application,  and  concentration 
of  effort  and  purpose  will  accomplish  the  results  of  genius. 
And  why  should  they  not,  for  they  are  genius  itself.  It  is 
wonderful  that  men  who  are  so  remarkable  for  common 
sense  in  the  e very-day  affairs  of  life  should  show  to  BUch 
poor  advantage  when  they  attempt  to  elucidate  the  princi- 
ples of  mental  science  and  human  nature.  There  are  no 
subjects  on  which  the  popular  writers  become  so  hopelessly 
confused  as  on  those  pertaining  to  psychology.  Let  it  be 
understood  once  and  forever  by  the  world,  that  there  can 
be  no  act  of  being  that  is  not  the  outgrowth  of  an  organic 
function,  and  this  pernicious  indefiniteness  which  makes 
ludricrous  and  insignificant  distinctions  between  synony- 
mous words,  will  vanish  from  our  literature.  Concentra- 
tion of  purpose  and  intense  application  are  as  truly  ele- 
ments of  genius  as  the  imagination  of  the  poet.  From 
these  writers  we  should  gather  that  there  may  be  one  or 
two  faculties  essential  to  greatness,  which  may  be  native 
and  individual,  but  that  all  the  other  elements,  such  as  will, 
concentration,  perseverance,  self-reliance,  etc.,  etc.,  are 
possessed  in  equal  quantities  by  all,  and  those  who  do  not 
use  them  as  extensively  as  the  greatest  men,  are  to  be 
censured. 

Now  it  is  as  reasonable  to  censure  a  boy  because  he  can- 
not compose  music  like  Beethoven  as  to  censure  him  be- 


308  OUR  HOME. 

cause  he  "  does  not  want  to."  The  elements  that  give  the 
desire  are  the  same  that  give  the  ability.  You  may  as 
well  exhort  him  to  write  poetry  like  Shakespeare  as  to  ex- 
hort him  to  have  the  concentration,  the  perseverance,  or 
the  self  reliance  of  Shakespeare,  for  all  these  qualities  are 
much  parts  of  genius,  and  are  just  as  dependent  on 
hereditary  and  organic  influences  as  those  which  are  recog- 
nized as  the  prime  factors  of  genius. 

Genius  has  many  and  unmistakable  characteristics,  and 
among  them  the  earliest,  if  not  the  most  marked,  is  in- 
tellectual boldness.  The  first  symptom  of  genius  is  a 
scorn  for  the  opinions  of  men.  Genius  sees  through 
the  clouds  that  intercept  the  world's  vision,  and  hence 
the  world  never  sympathizes  with  genius.  Hisses  are  the 
highest  compliment  the  world  can  pay  to  genius.  He 
who  does  not  sometimes  enrage  his  fellow  men  may  well 
question  his  claim  to  genius. 

This  rule,  however,  applies  with  less  force  in  certain 
spheres  of  genius,  as  music,  painting,  sculpture,  etc.  Yet 
even  here  the  grandest  efforts  have  been  scorned  by  the 
critics,  the  interpreters  of  genius.  But  in  that  highest 
sphere,  in  which  it  rough-hews  the  timbers  of  the  world's 
new  thought,  it  cannot  receive  the  sympathy  of  men. 
"  Loose  unto  us  Barabbas "  is  the  world's  cry.  It  is 
genius  they  would  crucify,  for  it  is  genius  that  moves 
them  to  wrath.  For  it  reveals  itself  not  in  soft  words  and 
"  pretty   thoughts,"    but   in   discordant   words   and   ugly 


FALLACIES  ABOUT  GENIUS.  309 

thoughts ;  tumultuous  thoughts  ;  thoughts  that  burn  into 
the  tablet  of  the  centuries  with  a  hiss.  It  is  the  honied 
words  of  talent  that  please  the  ears  of  mankind. 

Another  distinguishing  characteristic  of  genius  is  that  it 
always  tells  the  world  something  that  it  did  not  know  be- 
fore. Genius  stands  nearest  to  the  source  of  all  wisdom, 
and  catches  whispers  that  never  reach  the  common  ear.  It 
is  God's  interpreter.  It  reveals  and  interprets  the  unwrit- 
ten language  of  nature's  pantomime ;  hence  the  world,  in 
spite  of  its  antipathy  for  genius,  instinctively  recognizes  its 
power.  For  in  all  ages  men  have  made  the  words  of 
genius  canonical.     Homer  was  the  world's  first  Bible. 

Genius  works  without  regard  to  the  value  of  the  prod- 
uct. It  works,  as  we  have  said,  because  it  cannot  help  it. 
And  herein  seems  to  consist  the  divinity  of  genius,  for  it 
appears  to  be  guided  by  a  divine  influence.  It  forgets 
that  it  is  hungry  and  works  all  night.  Tested  by  the  re- 
ceived canons,  it  is  radical  and  fanatical.  It  recognizes  no 
formulated  law  of  thought  or  logic.  It  both  walks  upon 
the  earth,  and  flies  in  the  air.  It  knows  that  which  talent 
doubts,  and  believes  that  which  talent  laughs  at. 

It  is  not  our  purpose  to  discourage  young  men,  yet  we 
do  not  hesitate  to  do  so,  if  thereby  we  may  dispel  from 
their  minds  the  foolish  fancy  that  they  are  geniuses.  Nor 
need  this  discourage  them.  Every  mind  is  satisfied  with 
its  own  sphere.  Talent  does  not  suffer  from  disappoint- 
ment because  it  cannot  be  genius,  any  more  than  the  child 


310  OUR  HOME. 

suffers  because  it  cannot  be  a  man.  The  child  is  ambi- 
tious only  to  be  noted  among  his  playmates  as  possessing, 
in  a  remarkable  degree,  the  qualities  of  a  child.  So  talent, 
unless  there  be  a  want  of  harmony  in  the  mental  constitu- 
tion, is  satisfied  with  its  own  sphere,  and  does  not  seek  to 
rise  in  its  aspirations  into  the  cloud  heights  of  genius. 
We  do  not  mean  that  a  person  without  genius  does  not 
frequently  wish  that  he  might  occupy  the  highest  place  in 
the  estimation  of  his  fellows.  There  are  few  to  whom 
this  wish  is  a  stranger,  yet  it  causes  no  suffering  and  does 
not  touch  the  question  of  disappointed  aspirations.  In  its 
relation  to  genius  we  have  used  the  word  aspiration  with 
its  strongest  meaning,  that  in  which  it  signifies  not  merely 
a  wish  to  be  great,  but  a  burning,  sleepless  impulse,  which 
suffers  all  things,  forgets  the  weak  pleadings  of  sense,  and 
labors  unceasingly  for  the  accomplishment  of  its  purpose. 

So  we  are  not  actuated  by  a  malicious  desire  to  dash  the 
cherished  hopes  of  college  boys  who  mistake  that  indefinite 
desire  for  greatness  which  every  one  has  felt,  for  that 
divine  uplifting  which  not  only  seeks  the  goal  of  greatness, 
but  actually  rejoices  that  the  path  to  glory  is  so  rough  and 
steep.  It  is  a  characteristic  of  genius  that  it  loves  to  tread 
stony  paths,  for  the  sake  of  crushing  the  stones. 

No  !  no  !  young  man,  don't  wait  any  longer  for  genius 
to  blossom,  for  the  fact  that  you  are  waiting  proves  that 
there  is  no  bud  to  blossom. 

We   have  paid   this  exalted   and   possibly  extravagant 


FALLACIES  ABOUT  GENIUS.  311 

tribute  to  genius  solely  for  the  purpose  of  placing  in  the 
hands  of  that  class  of  young  men  who  fancy  themselves 
geniuses,  a  means  of  detecting  their  own  folly.  These 
young  men  are  proverbially  the  lazy  young  men ;  they  are 
those  who  from  some  strange  cause  have  conceived  the 
idea  that  to  work  would  be  to  surrender  their  claim  to 
genius.  Hence  they  abandon  themselves  to  idleness.  They 
have  been  told  that  Poe  and  Byron  were  idlers.  But  if 
the  truth  were  known  it  would,  doubtless,  be  found  that 
these  unhappy  geniuses  through  sleepless  nights  of  wast- 
ing toil  worked  themselves  into  untimely  graves. 

Since  genius  consists  solely  in  spontaneous  and  involun- 
tary labor  in  contradistinction  to  the  irksome  effort  of 
mediocrity,  it  follows  that  these  young  men  are  barred, 
at  the  outset,  from  all  claim  to  genius. 

Probably  more  talented  young  men  have  been  rendered 
useless  by  the  delusion  that  genius  is  a  compound  of  wine 
and  laziness  than  by  any  other  one  cause.  But  let  no 
young  man  entertain  the  foolish  idea  that  by  getting 
drunk  and  being  lazy  he  can  be  a  Poe. 

In  the  first  place,  Poe  was  not  lazy.  Genius,  it  is  true, 
often  works  somewhat  irregularly,  because  the  moving 
power  in  genius  is  impulse,  whereas  in  talent  it  is  usually 
motives  of  economy  or  duty.  And  in  the  second  place,  Poe 
would  probably  have  been  a  much  greater  poet  had  he 
been  temperate.  But  there  seems  to  be  in  perverted 
human  nature  a   propensity  to  copy  after  the  incidental 


312  OUR  HOME. 

Weakness  of  greatness.  Let  a  man  of  genius  display  one 
trait  of  the  idiot  and  hundreds  of  young  men  will  appropri- 
ate it  and  complacently  consider  themselves  possessed  of 
at  least  one  characteristic  of  genius. 

So  long  as  the  young  man  of  talent  can  readily  find  a 
field  for  the  full  exercise  of  his  powers,  and  one  in  which 
the  rewards  of  toil  are  worthy  of  his  highest  effort,  he  need 
not  feel  discouraged  because  he  cannot  be  a  genius.  As 
well  might  he  lament  because  he  was  not  born  into  a  more 
refined  and  beautiful  world  than  this.  So  long  as  he  ful- 
fills the  duties  which  his  talent  imposes,  he  should  be  con- 
tent and  happy  in  his  sphere,  and  never  stop  to  consider 
whether  he  be  a  genius  or  a  mediocre.  The  semi-idiot,  if  he 
employs  to  the  best  possible  advantage  the  weak  talents 
that  he  possesses,  may  be  as  deserving  of  praise  as  Plato, 
Paul,  or  Newton. 

It  is  the  function  of  genius  to  go  in  advance  of  the  world's 
march,  and  "  set  the  stakes "  to  guide  the  advancing  col- 
umn. But  our  genius  can  do  this  for  an  army  of  ten  thou- 
sand, while  the  lieutenants  and  corporals  of  talent  must  be 
scattered  all  along  the  line.  Genius  in  every  relation  of 
life  is  more  or  less  independent  of  experience.  It  knows 
tilings  without  learning  them.  It  exemplifies  the  doctrine 
of  "innate  ideas."  Talent  knows  only  what  it  sees,  but 
genius  does  not  see  what  it  knows.  In  its  loftiest  moods 
the  beams  of  truth  flash  into  its  inmost  chambers,  and  it 
cannot  tell  from  whence  comes  the  light.     It  is  awed  at  its 


FALLACIES  ABOUT  GENIUS.  313 

own  achievements,  and  looks  Avitli  wonder  upon  its  own 
offspring.  It  sees,  as  mere  talent  can  never  learn  to  see, 
the  infinite  significance  of  wholeness. 

Genius  is  creative  rather  than  executive.  It  may  exist, 
however,  in  the  line  of  any  one  of  the  several  faculties  of 
the  mind,  and  hence  may  find  its  expression  in  the  execu- 
tive faculties  themselves.  Yet  even  in  this  case  genius 
finds  its  chief  function  in  marking  out  the  lines  of  action 
and  in  telling  others  what  to  do  and  how  to  do  it,  thus 
leaving  the  ultimate  execution  in  the  hands  of  talent. 
So  it  may  be  true  that  genius  is  always  creative  and  not 
executive.  The  girl  may  surpass  Beethoven  in  the  mere 
execution  at  the  piano-forte,  yet  it  is  the  fiat  of  Beethoven's 
genius  that  directs  every  quiver  of  her  flying  fingers.  The 
inventive  genius  is  proverbial  for  its  lack  of  executive 
ability.  This  quality,  together  with  intuitiveness,  to 
which  it  is  closely  related,  and  upon  which  it  chiefly 
depends,  is,  doubtless,  the  most  distinguishing  character- 
istic of  genius. 

But  talent  and  genius  may  and  often  do  exist  together. 
There  is  nothing  in  the  nature  of  the  one  that  necessarily 
precludes  the  other.  Those  in  whom  they  exist  together 
will  exhibit  that  same  irrepressible  impulse  to  labor,  but 
there  will  be,  in  their  labor,  the  method  and  regularity  and 
moderation  which  characterizes  that  of  talent.  It  is  doubt- 
ful if  pure  genius  is  ever  of  the  highest  order.  Poe  was 
perhaps  one  of  the  best  illustrations  of  pure  genius  in  all 


314  OUR  HOME. 

history,  and  yet  we  cannot  regard  him  as  worthy  of  the 
highest  honor.  Pure  genius  is  fitful  and  irregular.  It  is 
only  when  it  is  mixed  with  talent  that  it  becomes  grand, 
imposing  and  effective.  The  genius  of  Caesar,  Napoleon  or 
Shakespeare  would  not  have  produced  the  grand  results 
that  it  did,  had  it  not  been  mixed  with  talent,  whereby  it 

B  tempered  and  made  self-regulating.  Goethe,  perhaps, 
furnishes  the  best  illustration  of  the  combination  of  genius 
and  talent. 

We  have  indicated  a  very  sharp  contrast  between  genius 
and  talent,  or  rather  between  the  results  of  genius  and 
talent.  But  the  question,  what  is  genius,  remains  un- 
answered. 

There  are  all  degrees  of  genius,  as  there  are  all  degrees 
of  talent,  and  the  line  where  the  highest  degree  of  talent 
meets  the  lowest  degree  of  genius  is  a  question  that  can  be 
determined  only  by  the  arbitration  of  mankind.  There  is 
no  natural  law  by  which  we  can  say  with  certainty  that 
one  mind  is  on  this  side  and  another  on  the  other  side  of 
that  line.  There  are  doubtless  thousands  far  below  the 
line  who  have  passed  for  geniuses,  while  thousands  more, 
as  far  above  the  line,  have  hardly  received  the  rank  to 
which  mediocrity  should  entitle  them.  Yet  notwithstand- 
ing such  injustice,  resulting  from  weakness  and  prejudice, 
the  fact  of  genius  still  remains.  The  distinction  of  kitten 
and  cat,  of  cub  and  lion,  of  child  and  adult,  are  genuine 
ami  natural  distinctions,  yet  who  shall  designate  the  mo- 


FALLACIES  ABOUT  GENIUS.  315 

ment  when  a  boy  becomes  a  man  ?  This  moment  cannot 
be  ascertained  with  certainty  within  several  years.  A 
margin  of  at  least  five  years  must  be  allowed  for  variation 
of  opinion  concerning  definitions. 

Genius,  then,  is  but  developed  talent,  and  the  lowest 
degree  of  talent  holds  in  potentiality  the  highest  degree  of 
genius. 

Talent  in  man  corresponds  to  strength  of  material  in  the 
engine,  which  is  approximately  indicated  by  the  figures 
on  the  steam  gauge.  It  is  the  steady  power  of  resist- 
ance. But  there  is  another  quality  of  the  engine  of  a  sub- 
tiler  nature.  It  may  be  called  sensitiveness.  This  qual- 
ity depends  not  upon  the  size  and  strength  of  material, 
but  upon  the  "  finish  "  and  the  nice  adjustment  of  parts, 
whereby  friction  is  diminished.  It  enables  us  to  deter- 
mine the  per  cent,  of  discount  that  must  be  made,  on  the 
indications  of  the  steam  gauge,  in  estimating  the  efficiency 
or  working  power  of  the  engine. 

Now  genius  is  that  in  the  organization  which  corre- 
sponds to  this  quality  in  the  engine.  It  may  be  termed 
organic  quality.  It  is  the  finish  of  the  brain,  and  by  it 
the  mental  powers  are  made  responsive.  It  is  great  just 
in  proportion  to  the  per  cent,  of  organic  power  utilized. 
Hence  spontaneity  is  the  one  word  that  approaches  near- 
est to  a  synonym  of  genius. 

Since  genius  results  from  a  quality  of  the  organism,  we 
see  why  it  often  seems  to  defy  the  organic  law  that  size 


OUR  HOME. 

measures  power.  Emerson  is  a  puzzle  to  the  phrenologists, 
even  with  all  the  qualifications  implied  in  their  "  caeteris 
paribus."  This  fact,  however,  is  no  disparagement  to  the 
science.  Even  astronomy,  the  oldest  of  sciences,  must 
recognize  its  insolvable  problems.  It  cannot  trace  the 
comet  through  its  hyperbolic  and  parabolic  orbits.  So 
mental  science  cannot  solve  the  "  mystery  of  genius."  For 
genius  lies  beyond  the  reach  of  science.  It  is  a  comet 
whose  orbit  is  the  infinite  parabola. 

There  are  degrees  of  organic  quality  far  above  that 
which  the  phrenologist  marks  "seven,"  and  in  these  rare- 
fied realms  dwells  genius.  Nay,  genius  is  the  reigning 
spirit  of  the  realm  itself. 

It  should  be  a  pleasing  thought  to  the  great  mass  of  man- 
kind, that  the  most  glorious  achievements  of  the  race,  the 
aggregate  of  which  constitutes  most  that  we  prize  in  his- 
tory, have  not  been  the  products  of  what  men  term  genius. 
But  talent,  with  toiling  brain  and  sweating  brow,  has 
wrought  the  revolutions  whose  issues  are  the  landmarks 
of  history.  '  But  this  does  not  debase  the  glorious  mission 
of  genius.  Had  it  not  been  for  genius,  the  great  problems 
that  talent  has  solved,  would  never  have  been  formulated. 

Let  the  young  man,  whether  he  has  talent  or  genius,  be 
content  to  labor  in  his  own  sphere,  and  let  his  motto  be — 

"  Seize  thi9  very  minute, 
WThat  you  can  do,  or  dream  you  can,  begin  it. 
Boldness  has  genius,  power,  and  magic  in  it. 
Only  engage,  and  then  the  mind  grows  heated, — 
Begin,  and  then  the  work  will  be  completed." 


COURAGE 
TO   MEET   LIFE'S   DUTIES. 


•— ^  UM AN  life  is  fraught  with  duties.  The 
$  fact  of  existence  imposes  them  upon 
every  one.  There  is  no  hour  of  our  lives 
that  does  not  hold  a  note  against  us. 
'  Every  moment  is  a  creditor.  Our  lives 
and  what  they  signify  are  so  woven  into 
the  web  of  universal  being  that  there  is 
never  a  moment  of  release. 

But  by  far  the  larger  portion  of  life's 
duties  lie  along  the  soul's  path  of  ag- 
gressive movement,  and  require  some- 
thing of  courage  to  meet  them. 

Courage  is  that  quality  of  the  soul 
which  makes  it  fearless  of  consequences  in  the  presence  of 
opposition.  With  this  definition,  courage  becomes  an  ele- 
ment in  the  performance  of  every  duty  of  life,  for  the 
human  soul  is  confronted  by  no  duty  which  is  not  armed. 
Every  duty  demands  an  aggressive  act,  and  hence  courage — 
and  he  who  shrinks  from  a  duty  is  a  coward.  The  duties 
of  life  consist  in  the  aggregate  of  all  the  acts  toward  which 
the  sense  of  right,  of  honor,  and  of  self  respect  impel  us. 


318  OUR  HOME. 

Life  is  the  arena  of  many  forms  of  courage,  as  many  as 
there  are  possible  lines  of  human  action.  There  is  physi- 
cal courage,  which  dares  to  meet  and  overcome  physical 
opposition.  It  is  that  which  makes  us  willing  to  take  the 
possible  consequences  of  the  physical  danger,  in  the  accom- 
plishment of  an  effort.  This  form  of  courage  is  by  no 
means  low.  It  is  true  that  it  is  the  form  of  courage  which 
defends  the  cub  of  the  wild  beast,  and  which  belongs  to 
that  department  of  man's  nature  which  he  possesses  in 
common  with  the  brute  creation,  yet  without  it  all  the 
higher  powers  of  man  would  be  helpless  prisoners  in  the 
hands  of  circumstances.  We  would  not  exalt  physical 
courage  to  that  position  which  we  would  assign  to  reason, 
and  yet  we  must  regard  it  as  one  of  the  noble  attributes  of 
man.  Washington's  integrity  and  honor  and  patriotism 
might  have  existed  in  vain,  for  without  physical  courage 
they  could  never  have  made  a  nation  grand.  The  early 
Christians  might  have  died  from  the  very  excess  of  their 
joy,  but  without  the  physical  courage  that  scorns  the  flame 
there  would  never  have  been  a  martyr. 

But  there  are  higher  forms  of  courage.  To  be  a  martyr 
one  must  have  something  more  than  the  courage  to  meet  a 
high  degree  of  temperature.  He  must  have  the  courage  to 
think  the  unthought  and  speak  the  unspoken,  and  not 
only  to  think  and  speak  thus,  but  to  do  it  amid  the  jeers 
of  hatred  and  the  hisses  of  calumny.  Without  this  form 
of  courage  no  triumphant  vessel  would  to-day  move  upon 


COURAGE  TO  MEET  LIFE'S  DUTIES.  319 

the  waters,  no  engine  would  jar  the  earth  with  its  iron 
hoofs,  no  magic  wires  would  belt  the  globe  with  zones  of 
love. 

History  would  be  unstained  with  blood,  and  the  simple 
record  would  read  as  sweetly  as  the  story  of  a  maiden's 
life ;  and  yet  out  of  the  rayless  midnight  of  that  history 
would  rise  no  star.  The  darkness  of  the  past  has  been 
illumed  by  the  fagot  fires  kindled  at  the  feet  of  courage. 
No  grand  libraries  would  adorn  our  cities,  had  not  moral 
courage  dared  to  pen  its  own  doom. 

Every  great  book  in  history  was  born  amid  the  death 
throes  of  its  heroic  author. 

The  steps  of  the  world's  progress  have  been  over  the  red 
altars  of  human  sacrifice. 

Physical,  intellectual,  and  moral  courage  have  been  the 
grand  leaders  in  the  ceaseless  conquest  of  thought.  God 
bless  the  martyrs  to  science  and  religion !  bless  those 
whose  pale,  thoughtful  brows  have  pressed  through  weary 
days  and  lingering  nights  against  the  bars  of  prison  win- 
dows ! 

It  is  often  said  that  the  age  of  heroism  is  past,  since,  as  it 
is  claimed,  there  is  no  longer  any  demand  for  great  displays 
of  courage.  The  inventor  is  no  longer  pointed  at  with 
scorn,  nor  accused  of  too  intimate  association  with  the  devil. 

The  authors  of  new  thought  are  not  now  doomed  to 
starvation.  But  notwithstanding  all  this  there  never  was 
a  period  in  the  history  of  the  world  when  life  demanded  bo 


320  OUR  HOME. 

much  of  courage  as  to-day.     The  most  dastardly  form  of 
cowardice  is  that  which  makes  us  afraid  to  be  ourselves. 

The  highest  need  of  human  society  to-day  is  a  bold  and 
fearless  spirit  of  individuality.  A  thousand  years  ago  one 
could  be  conservative  and  not  fall  behind  the  race.  But 
now,  while  humanity  rides  on  steam  and  lightning,  one 
cannot  afford  to  imitate  the  clumsy  gait  of  those  who  went 
through  life  on  foot. 

With  the  momentum  of  six  thousand  years  behind  him, 
man  is  now  rushing  with  terrific  speed  toward  the  goal  of 
his  destiny.  He  started  as  a  long  train  starts  from  its  sta- 
tion, with  snail  pace  and  amid  the  tolling  bells  of  dying 
martyrs.  One  did  not  need  then  to  have  a  high  degree  of 
individuality.  He  could  keep  with  the  race  while  he  re- 
mained almost  at  rest.  There  was  little  demand  then  for 
this  form  of  courage,  for  every  one  was  like  every  other, 
and  individuality  was  an  attribute  of  the  nation  rather 
than  of  the  man.  Then  the  individual  man  was  a  part  of 
the  mass  with  no  visible  line  of  demarcation  between,  but 
now  he  is  a  detached  fragment,  and  must  maintain  his 
own  identity  and  assert  his  own  individuality  by  a  cease- 
less act  of  courage,  or  be  hurled  as  refuse  into  the  world's 
intellectual  and  moral  sewer. 

No  age  of  human  history  has  offered  such  a  grand  re- 
ward to  courage  as  the  present.  In  politics  and  religion 
we  see  the  disgusting  cowardice  that  makes  men  slaves  to 
base  schemes  and  cunning  tyranny. 


COURAGE  TO  MEET  LIFE'S  DUTIES.  321 

There  are  few  men  who  dare  to  think  for  themselves  ; 
they  must  see  what  the  political  paper  or  the  minister  says 
before  they  have  the  courage  to  say  what  they  believe. 
Few  ever  consider  what  a  powerful  factor  in  life's  pro- 
gramme is  moral  courage.  Let  the  young  man  learn  to  think 
for  himself.  The  feeblest  thought  that  was  ever  born  of  a 
human  brain,  if  it  be  the  unrestricted  product  of  that 
brain  and  comes  forth  unfettered  by  fear  of  nonconformity, 
is  a  grander  thing  than  the  proudest  creation  of  genius, 
if  that  creation  be  shaped  in  trusting  subservience  to  man. 

One  courageous  thought  is  worth  more  than  volumes  of 
prostituted  genius.  Originality  is  not  a  peculiarity  of 
great  minds.  The  smallest  minds  may  become  wonder- 
fully original  simply  through  courage,  by  daring  to  ques- 
tion that  which  they  read  and  hear.  Of  course  the  disa- 
greeable habit  of  egotism  is  not  to  be  encouraged.  One 
should  presume  himself  ignorant  of  all  things  and  then 
dare  to  question  all  things. 

Authority  should  not  be  disregarded,  and  yet  it  should 
be  taken  as  affording  merely  a  presumption,  and  not  a 
demonstration.  The  truths  that  fall  within  the  ken  of 
human  vision  are  few.  All  truths  cannot  be  seen  even  by 
the  most  gifted.  The  spider  sees  many  things  that  the 
eagle  overlooks.  As  much  depends  upon  the  attitude  of 
the  eye  as  upon  its  power,  and  there  are  little  truths  and 
certain  aspects  of  great  truths  which  must,  from  their  na- 
ture, be  discerned  by  little  minds  alone.  It  is  cowardice 
21 


322  OUR  HOME. 

to  believe  or  disbelieve  because  Plato  says  so.     The  first 

i upturn  of  genius  is  the  hold  daring  with  which  it  dis- 
putes the  fables  of  the  nursery.  We  would  not,  however, 
have  it  understood  by  young  men  that  the  disagreeable 
and  unmannerly  habit  of  disputing  for  the  sake  of  disput- 
ing is  in  any  way  a  symptom  of  greatness. 

We  have  used  the  word  dispute  in  a  broader  sense,  that 
in  which  it  means  to  question  why,  to  weigh  the  probabili- 
ties, to  demand  consistency,  and  to  doubt,  if  need  be.  The 
( i\  ilization  of  the  nineteenth  century  was  born  of  doubts 
and  questions,  whose  answers  have  been  hisses.  Emerson 
says:    "Have  courage  not  to  adopt  another's  courage." 

That  certainly  means  much.  It  means  that  we  should 
stand  upon  our  own  individuality,  and  dare  to  respond  to 
our  own  name  in  the  roll  call  of  life. 

Courage  gives  a  man  a  kind  of  magic  control  over  every- 
thing in  nature.  It  actually  strengthens  the  muscles  of 
the  body. 

The  courageous  man  can  lift  a  heavier  weight,  other 
things  being  equal,  than  the  timid  man;  he  can  do  more 
work  in  the  same  time  and  with  less  exhaustion. 

Courage  adds  to  one's  peace  of  mind.  The  timid  man 
is  never  at  peace.  To  him  life's  duties  assume  the  form 
of  living,  malicious  intelligence,  whose  only  desire  seems 
to  be  to  defeat  his  efforts  and  cause  him  pain. 

Fear  weakens  every  fiber  of  our  being,  physical,  intel- 
lectual,   and    moral ;    which,    in    effect,    is    the    same   as 


THE  IMPORTANT  STEP. 


|N  the  history  of  every  one  there  comes  a  time 
when  an  important  step  must  be  taken  and  a 
momentous  question  decided.     The  period  in 
which  this  step  is  taken  is  a  most  critical  one, 
3  one  fraught  with  the  mightiest  consequences 
for  weal  or  woe.     It  holds  the  destiny  of  hu- 
man life.     An  error  here  cannot  be  corrected. 
A  happy  decision  is  a  fortune   to  which 
nothing  on  earth  can  be  compared. 

It  is  the  custom  to  speak  lightly  on  this  subject,  and  to 
consider  the  most  awful  issue  of  life  as  a  fit  occasion  for 
mirth  and  idle  jest.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  this  cus- 
tom lies  at  the  root  of  a  large  percentage  of  the  miseries 
that  mar  the  happiness  of  the  race. 

So  long  as  young  boys  and  girls  are  allowed  to  trifle 
with  each  other's  affections,  as  if  that  were  their  highest 
use,  the  world  will  be  the  theater  of  untold  sorrow.  It  is 
true  that  the  love  element  will  not  bear  to  be  reduced  to 
the  standard  of  a  commercial  transaction.  It  must  have 
the  liberty  to  spread  its  wings  in  the  atmosphere  of  its  own 
divine  romance.  We  must  not  take  away  the  poetry  which 
is  its  vital  breath. 


THE    MISTAKE. 


THE  IMPORTANT  STEP.  325 

And  yet  there  are  certain  phases  of  it  that  may  and 
should  be  submitted  to  the  tribunal  of  reason.  We  do  not 
believe  that  reason  can  in  any  sense  furnish  the  motive 
power  of  love.  We  even  doubt  if  nature  intended  it  to 
play  any  part  whatever  in  the  programme. 

We  belong  to  that  school  which  teaches  that  each  and 
every  part  of  man's  nature  contains  a  principle  of  wisdom 
in  itself,  and  holds  the  elements  of  its  own  regulation.  It 
is  not  the  natural  office  of  reason  to  dictate  the  amount  or 
quality  of  food  that  we  should  take,  and  yet  in  the  case  of 
dyspepsia  it  often  becomes  necessary  that  reason  should 
perform  this  function,  for  the  natural  instinct  is  then  de- 
throned and  there  is  no  longer  any  trustworthy  guide,  and 
reason  may  in  this  case  serve  as  a  poor  substitute. 

The  foregoing  illustration  contains  the  whole  truth  con- 
cerning the  relation  of  reason  to  the  love  principle.  If  the 
delicate  sentiments  have  not  been  outraged,  and  the  tastes 
are  unvitiated,  they  will  invariably  lead  to  desirable  re- 
sults, when  the  proper  conditions  are  supplied.  But  in 
most  cases  this  subtile  instinct  is  but  an  imperfect  guide, 
because  it  has  been  perverted  by  improper  action. 

Under  these  circumstances  it  becomes  necessary  to  sub- 
mit the  dyspeptic  caprice  of  the  unregulated  love  to  the 
sound  judgment  of  reason. 

It  is  said  that  "  love  is  blind,"  but  this  fancy  originated 
in  the  observed  phenomena  of  its  perversion,  and  not  of 
its  normal  action.     There  is  nothing  that  can  see  so  well 


OUR  HOME. 

as  pure  love.  It  is  all  eyes.  No  nicely  adjusted  lenses  of 
science  can  detect  the  motes  which  its  naked  eye  discerns. 
The  young  man  or  woman  whose  love  intuitions  are 
unclouded  will  seldom  make  a  mistake  in  the  disposal  of 
the  affections. 

There  is,  however,  a  danger  from  one  other  source,  which 
we  will  presently  mention.  It  is  the  theory  of  most  par- 
ents that  girls  and  young  ladies  should  never  be  permitted 
to  associate  freely  with  gentlemen  until  they  contemplate 
'matrimony.  There  seems  to  be  a  sickly  sentiment  preva- 
lent on  this  subject.  The  young  lady  must  feel  that  there 
was  a  kind  of  special  providence  in  her  love  affair,  and 
that  it  would  have  been  absolutely  impossible  for  her  to 
love  any  one  else.  This  diseased  sentiment  is  common  to 
both  sexes,  but  its  exists  for  the  most  part  in  those  who 
Lave  been  excluded  from  the  society  of  the  other  sex. 
The  fact  that  girls  who  have  brothers  and  boys  who  have 
sisters  always  make  the  wisest  matrimonial  selections,  is 
one  that  bears  significantly  on  this  subject.  The  lady  who 
has  never  been  permitted  to  associate  with  gentlemen,  and 
who  has  no  brothers,  is  very  likely  to  make  a  mistake  in 
the  bestowal  of  her  affections.  The  conjugal  choice  is 
made  through  an  instinct  that  is  attracted  by  the  con- 
genial, and  repelled  by  the  uncongenial.  But  there  is, 
however,  a  faint  attraction  between  the  sexes  even  when 
the  parties  are  not  conjugally  adapted,  and  if  the  young 
lady  has  never  had  an  opportunity  to  compare  this  faint 


THE  IMPORTANT  STEP.  327 

attraction,  which  she  may  have  felt,  with  stronger  ones,  she 
will  be  very  apt  to  misinterpret  its  significance,  and  regard 
this  slight  attraction  as  a  positive  impulse  of  her  nature. 
This,  then,  is  the  source  of  danger.  It  is  the  fact  that 
nature  seldom  permits  an  absolute  repulsion  between  ladies 
and  gentlemen,  even  between  those  who  are  ill  adapted  as 
conjugal  partners,  but  simply  a  weakening  of  the  attraction. 

Hence  it  becomes  necessary  in  order  to  rightly  interpret 
our  impulses  that  we  should  have  the  opportunity  to  com- 
pare them. 

If  nature  had  sharply  drawn  the  lines  of  attraction  and 
repulsion  between  the  compatible  and  the  incompatible, 
there  could  be  no  such  thing  as  a  matrimonial  mistake. 
But  since  she  prefers  to  suggest,  by  a  weakened  attraction, 
rather  than  to  command  by  a  positive  repulsion,  it  requires 
a  little  acuteness  to  understand  her  suggestions. 

It  is  a  fact  proved  from  every  realm  of  natural  history 
that  it  is  the  female's  rightful  function  to  make  the  matri- 
monial selection.  The  lioness  accepts  her  mate  only  after 
ample  opportunities  for  comparison  and  choice.  In  this, 
as  in  many  other  respects,  the  higher  intelligence  may 
learn  a  lesson  from  the  lower.  The  young  lady  should 
have  the  opportunity  of  making  her  selection  from  a  wide 
circle  of  gentlemen  friends,  otherwise  she  cannot  so  easily 
distinguish  the  false  from  the  true. 

The  highest  possible  compliment  that  can  be  paid  to  a 
young  man  is  to  be  "  singled  out "  by  the  divine  instinct 


328  OUR  HOME. 

of  a  pure  maiden  who  has  been  the  idol  of  her  brothers, 
and  who  through  her  early  years  played  with  the  little 
boys  of  her  acquaintance. 

We  are  not  by  any  means  advocating  that  fatal  vice 
known  as  flirting.  A  flirt  is  one  who  purposely  wins,  or 
tries  to  win,  the  affections  of  the  other  sex  with  no  serious 
intention,  or  simply  for  sport,  and  the  wicked  pleasure 
that  some  experience  in  being  able  to  pain  another's  heart. 
Perhaps  more  hearts  are  won  by  cunning  coquettes  for  the 
ruthless  purpose  of  seeing  them  bleed  when  cast  aside 
than  for  any  other  purpose. 

We  do  not  hesitate  to  express  our  firm  belief  that  the 

Is  of  flirtation  are  more  widespread  and  disastrous  in 
their  consequences  than  those  of  intemperance.  They 
blight  the  tenderest  sentiments  as  the  frost  blights  the 
buds.  They  freeze  the  holiest  emotions  of  the  soul,  and 
leave  the  heart  a  barren  waste.  Like  the  cornfield  whose 
fences  have  been  burned  away,  they  leave  the  heart  open 
to  the  devouring  herds  of  vice. 

But  young  ladies  and  gentlemen  may  associate  without 
flirtation.  There  is  nothing  better  for  a  young  man  than 
to  associate  as  a  friend  with  a  pure-minded  young  lady, 
and  the  benefit  is  equally  great  to  the  young  lady. 

When  love  begins  in  friendship  it  rarely  makes  a  mis- 
take. Love  should  never  be  contemplated  between  par- 
ties who  cannot  first  be  firm  friends.  But  such  exclusive 
association  is  not  at  all  necessary.     It  is,  perhaps,  as  well 


THE  IMPORTANT  STEP.  329 

that  the  young  man  or  woman  should  have  a  circle  of 
friends  and  acquaintances  made  up  of  both  sexes.  In  this 
case,  if  the  early  training  has  been  what  it  should  have  been, 
and  the  natural  and  pure  impulses  of  the  child  have  not 
been  interfered  with,  there  will  seldom  be  a  need  of  any 
other  form  of  association. 

One  of  the  worst  things  a  parent  can  do  is  to  shame  a 
little  girl  because  she  is  inclined  to  play  with  little  boys. 
She  should  be  taught  to  feel  that  there  is  nothing  wrong 
or  unladylike  in  such  conduct.  So  the  boy  should  not  be 
teased  by  his  parents  or  older  brothers  and  sisters  because 
he  smiles  upon  a  little  girl,  or  manifests  a  preference  for 
her  society.  Such  preferences,  of  course,  should  not  be 
strong,  since  they  would  then  be  unnatural  and  would  in- 
dicate precocity,  which  should  be  dreaded  as  among  the 
worst  calamities  to  which  childhood  is  subject. 

Young  ladies  may  allow  themselves  to  be  frequently  es- 
corted by  gentlemen,  but  should  not  permit  the  exclusive  at- 
tention of  any  particular  one  unless  from  the  divine  motive 
of  pure  affection,  which  alone  can  sanctify  such  association. 

The  best  girls,  the  best  sweethearts,  the'  best  wives,  and 
the  best  mothers  are  those  who  have  been  the  intimate  but 
innocent  associates  of  young  men. 

But  so  long  as  so  many,  especially  of  young  ladies,  have 
not  been  permitted  to  associate  with  the  other  sex,  and 
still  more  have,  by  flirtations,  so  vitiated  their  intui- 
tive perceptions  of  congeniality  that  these  are  no  longer 


OUR  HOME. 

safe  guides,  it  is,  perhaps,  as  well  to  give  some  advice  in 
regard  to  those  cases  in  which  it  becomes  necessary  to  sub- 
stitute reason  in  place  of  instinct. 

In  the  first  place,  it  is  necessary  to  ascertain  what  direc- 
tion, under  the  given  ciivnmstances,  instinct  would  take  if 
it  were  in  a  healthy  state,  or  if  it  were  to  act  under  more 
favorable  conditions. 

Its  action  is  as  strictly  subject  to  law  as  that  of  gravita- 
tion and  may  be  studied  with  the  most  satisfactory  results. 
Love's  preferences  are  not  unreasonable.  The  tall,  spare 
dark-eyed,  young  man  does  not  single  out  the  plump, 
blonde,  blue-eyed  maiden  without  a  cause. 

The  rosy  cheeked  brunette,  with  face  and  shoulders 
shaped  like  her  father's,  does  not  toss  her  raven  locks  invit- 
ingly to  the  blue-eyed,  fair-skinned,  short,  stout  and  san- 
guine young  man,  from  any  mere  whim  of  lawless  caprice. 
The  hand  that  guides  the  stars  is  not  more  unswerving 
than  the  law  of  sexual  preferences.  Nor  is  this  law  hid- 
den and  inscrutable.  It  lies  upon  the  surface  and  may  be 
easily  discovered  and  formulated. 

Briefly  stated,  it  is  simply  the  law  by  which  individual 
eccentricities  are  prevented  from  coming  under  the  law  of 
entailment,  or  more  properly,  by  which  the  law  of  entail- 
ment is  made  to  neutralize  them.  Without  this  provision, 
eccentricities  would  perpetually  accumulate  and  reinforce 
themselves  until  all  the  affinities  of  the  race  would  be  lost 
in  unapproachable  differences. 


THE  IMPORTANT  STEP.  331 

Just  in  so  far  as  one  departs  from  symmetry  in  his  own 
physical  or  mental  make  up,  this  law  causes  him  to  prefer 
in  the  other  sex,  those  opposite  peculiarities  which  will 
counterbalance  his  own,  and  which,  when  blended,  and 
subjected  to  the  law  of  heredity,  re-establishes  the  lost 
symmetry.  Each  sex  desires  in  the  other  the  complement 
of  its  own  eccentricities.  There  is  a  neutral  point  where 
each  desires  its  own  likeness.  This  point  is  absolute  sym- 
metry and  perfection.  It  corresponds  to  the  neutral  point 
of  a  magnet.  On  either  side  of  this  point  like  eccentrici- 
ties repel,  and  unlike  attract. 

If  a  human  being  could  be  found  perfect  and  symmetri- 
cal in  all  respects,  that  person  would  be  drawn  toward  one 
of  the  other  sex  exactly  like  himself.  This  law  of  sexual 
preference  would  in  his  case  be  entirely  suspended,  as 
there  would  be  nothing  for  it  to  do. 

He  would  be  left  to  act  in  accordance  with  another  law, 
which  is  antagonistic  to  that  of  sexual  preferences.  It  is 
that  by  which  we  are  drawn  toward  those  possessing  the 
same  peculiarities  as  ourselves. 

These  two  tendencies,  though  antagonistic,  are  not  in- 
consistent. The  one  acts  between  the  sexes,  the  other 
between  those  of  the  same  sex.  In  the  case  of  perfect 
symmetry  which  we  have  supposed,  the  latter  law  would 
act  even  between  persons  of  opposite  sexes. 

Human  eccentricities  may  be  conceived  as  arcs  of  circles 
circumscribed  about  the  point  of  absolute  perfection.     The 


332  OUR  HOME. 

field  of  this  sexual  law  lies  within  these  circles,  and  the 
strongest  affinity  is  that  between  corresponding  arcs  which 
would  be  joined  by  a  line  passing  through  the  center. 

Having  discovered  the  law  then,  all  that  is  necessary  in 
order  to  make  application  of  it  when  our  instinctive  per- 
ception of  conjugal  adaptation  becomes  untrustworthy,  is 
simply  to  ascertain  our  own  peculiarities,  excesses  and  de- 
ficiencies, and  match  them  with  opposite  ones  in  the  other 
sex. 

There  is  a  limit,  however,  to  the  degree  of  difference 
that  is  permissible.  It  should  never  be  so  great  that  each 
cannot  sympathize  with  the  other,  and  take  an  interest  in 
those  things  which  interest  the  other.  The  lady  who  is 
unusually  refined  will  naturally  be  attracted  by  a  man  not 
over  refined,  but  somewhat  gruff,  and  she  will  often  be 
proud  of  his  deep  voice  and  uncombed  hair.  Yet  coarse- 
ness and  vulgarity  she  cannot  sympathize  with,  and  should 
never  seek  that  degree  of  difference.  One  who  is  musical 
need  not  select  one  who  cannot  distinguish  one  tune  from 
another;  but  the  one  should  be  sufficiently  endowed,  at 
least,  to  appreciate  the  superiority  of  the  other. 

It  is  not  so  necessary  that  there  should  be  a  diversity 
in  respect  to  talent,  as  in  respect  to  character  and  disposi- 
tion. The  talents,  tastes  and  proficiencies  may  be  in  the 
same  general  line  in  both  parties,  but  all  physical  peculiar- 
ities and  all  eccentricities  of  disposition  should  be  consci- 
entiously submitted  to  the  law  of  sexual  preference. 


THE  IMPORTANT  STEP.  333 

But  a  right  matrimonial  selection  is  not  all  that  is  nec- 
essary. The  preservation  of  love  is  the  finest  of  the  fine 
arts.  To  win  a  heart  is  within  the  capacity  of  most  men, 
but  to  keep  it  lies  within  the  power  of  few.  He  who  shall 
discover  the  magic  secret  of  preserving  love,  and  shall  in- 
duce the  world  to  adopt  it,  shall  confer  the  grandest  bless- 
ing ever  yet  conferred  by  mortal.  He  shall  deserve  a 
prouder  fame  than  ever  draped  a  funeral  car,  or  marched 
beneath  a  nation's  drooping  banners.  Humanity  shall 
write  his  name  close  beside  that  winch  is  written  upon  the 
universal  heart. 

This  tribute  will  not  seem  overwrought  to  those  who 
understand  and  realize  how  much  of  human  sin  is  traceable 
to  the  absence  of  love  in  parentage.  The  world  can  never 
know  how  large  a  part  of  its  idiotic,  its  intellectually  and 
morally  deformed,  were  the  unwelcome  offspring  of  un- 
loved and  unloving  mothers. 

It  cannot  be  that  love  was  intended  only  for  life's  rosy 
dawn,  that  its  first  thrill  is  its  death  throe.  Could  God  so 
mock  the  brightest  and  sweetest  hopes  of  earth  as  to  or- 
dain that  love  should  grow  cold  and  vanish  like  a  summer 
dream  while  yet  the  fragrance  of  the  orange  blossoms  lin- 
gers, and  the  bridal  vow  still  trembles  on  the  unkissed  lips? 
Is  it  true  that  love  is  but  the  brilliant  rainbow  that  spans 
the  storm  wrapt  arch  of  life,  and  trembles  for  a  moment 
through  the  silver  mist  of  human  tears,  then  fades  forever 
while  we  gaze  ? 


334  OUB  HOME, 

We  cannot,  will  not,  believe  that  God  has  made  the  hu- 
man heart  to  single  out  this  one  gay  hour  from  all  the 
hours  of  life,  as  the  brightest  star  in  all  the  firmament  of 
human  joys,  while  yet  that  star  is  but  a  meteor  which  darts 
a  moment,  flame-winged  and  glorious,  then  sinks  and  falls, 
consumed  by  its  own  breath,  leaving  behind  its  brilliant 
train  a  darkened  path  forever.  Ah  no!  the  very  law  of 
heredity  demands  the  preservation  of  love.  Nature  pun- 
ishes its  withdrawal  with  intellectual  and  moral  idiocy. 

The  magic  secret  of  which  we  spoke  lies  not  in  the 
means  of  preserving  love,  but  in  securing  the  world's  con- 
sent to  use  the  means  that  lie  within  its  reach.  There  is 
no  secret  in  the  means. 

They  are  contained  in  the  formulated  expression  of  a 
well#  known  law  that  love  cannot  live  unless  its  physical 
phase  is  entirely  and  completely  subjected  to  its  spiritual. 

Spiritual  love  lives  by  its  own  right,  but  the  physical 
lives  only  by  lease  of  the  spiritual.  They  can  live  together 
only  on  one  changeless  and  eternal  condition,  and  that 
condition  is  the  perfect  supremacy  of  the  spiritual  over 
the  physical.  This  then  is  all  that  is  necessary  to  the  pres- 
ervation of  wedded  love.  When  this  condition  is  reversed 
the  spiritual  phase  soon  dies  altogether,  and  at  last  even 
the  physical  itself,  and  two  hearts  that  once  beat  together 
are  severed  past  reuniting. 

Tis  passing  strange  that   the  world    so  stubbornly  re- 
el to  profit  by  its  own  experience.     Every  untried  ship 


THE  IMPORTANT  STEP.  335 

that  sails  so  proudly  from  the  port  with  its  "freight  of 
spirits  twain  "  passes  on  every  side  a  shivering  wreck ;  yet 
they  heed  not  the  wailing  cries  from  the  perishing,  but 
sail  straight  onward  to  the  fatal  rock  on  which  nature  has 
set  the  seal  of  her  deepest  dam  nation. 

We  have  pointed  out  the  divine  means  by  which  alone 
love  can  live.  Try  it,  O  man  !  O  woman !  and  be  blessed. 
Try  it  by  all  the  holy  visions  of  thy  hopeful  youth.  Try  it 
by  all  the  divine  significance  of  heredity,  by  all  that  being 
signifies,  by  all  the  prayers  and  tender  yearnings  at  the 
cradle  side,  by  your  hopes  of  heaven,  try  it. 

Let  woman  remember  that  this  doctrine  appeals  to  her 
with  doubled  force.  It  is  through  you,  O  woman,  that  the 
world  must  heed  it.  Whatever  other  wrongs  you  may  sub- 
mit to,  whatever  rights  may  be  denied  you  in  the  social 
world,  remember  that  in  this  matter  you  should  proclaim 
yourself  the  sovereign  ruler,  nor  brook  a  question  why. 
Your  voice  may  be  silenced  in  the  roaring  mart,  you  may 
be  pushed  aside  by  the  mad  crowd,  but  behind  the  silken 
folds  that  hide  the  sanctity  of  wedded  joy  you  are  the 
sovereign  divinely  ordained.  By  the  necessities  and  consis- 
tencies of  your  being,  by  every  argument  from  the  exhaust- 
less  realm  of  natural  history,  by  every  law  of  nature  and 
of  God,  you  bear  the  badge  of  rightful  sovereignty. 

"  Fair  youth,  too  timid  to  lift  your  eyes 
To  the  maiden  with  downcast  look, 
As  you  mingle  the  gold  and  brown  of  your  curls 
Together  over  a  book ; 


336  OUR  HOME. 

A  fluttering  hope  that  she  dare  not  name 

Her  trembling  bosom  heaves; 

And  your  heart  is  thrilled,  when  your  fingers  meet, 

As  you  softly  turn  the  leaves. 

'*  Perchance  you  two  will  walk  alone 
Next  year  at  some  sweet  day's  close, 
And  your  talk  will  fall  to  a  tenderer  tone, 
As  you  liken  her  cheek  to  a  rose ; 
And  then  her  face  will  flush  and  glow, 
With  a  hopeful,  happy  red; 
Outblushing  all  the  flowers  that  grow 
Anear  in  the  garden-bed. 

"If  you  plead  for  hope,  she  may  bashful  drop 
Her  head  on  your  shoulder,  low; 
And  you  will  be  lovers  and  sweethearts  then 
As  youths  and  maidens  go: 
Lovers  and  sweethearts,  dreaming  dreams, 
And  seeing  visions  that  please, 
With  never  a  thought  that  life  is  made 
Of  great  realities; 

"  That  the  cords  of  love  must  be  strong  as  death 
Which  hold  and  keep  a  heart, 
Not  daisy-chains,  that  snap  in  the  breeze, 
Or  break  with  their  weight  apart; 
For  the  pretty  colors  of  youth's  fair  morn 
Fade  out  from  the  noonday  sky; 
And  blushing  loves  in  the  roses  born 
Alas!  with  the  roses  die! 

"  But  the  love,  that  when  youth's  morn  is  past, 
Still  sweet  and  true  survives, 
Is  the  faith  we  need  to  lean  upon 
In  the  crises  of  our  lives: 
The  love  that  shines  in  the  eyes  grown  dim, 
In  the  voice  that  trembles,  speaks; 
And  sees  the  roses  that  a  year  ago 
Withered  and  died  in  our  cheeks; 

"  That  sheds  a  halo  round  us  still, 
Of  soft  immortal  light, 
When  we  change  youth's  golden  coronal 
For  a  crown  of  silver  white; 


THE  IMPORTANT  STEP. 


337 


A  love  for  sickness  and  for  health, 
For  rapture  and  for  tears; 
That  will  live  for  us,  and  bear  with  us 
Through  all  our  mortal  years. 

'  And  such  there  is;  there  are  lovers  here, 
On  the  brink  of  the  grave  that  stand, 
Who  shall  cross  to  the  hills  beyond,  and  walk 
Forever  hand  in  hand ! 

Pray,  youth  and  maid,  that  your  end  be  theirs, 
Who  are  joined  no  more  to  part; 
For  death  comes  not  to  the  living  soul, 
Nor  age  to  the  loving  heart!  " 


22 


LEAVING  HOME. 


VERY  one  must  leave  his  home.  The  young 
eaglet  cannot  forever  nestle  beneath  the  pro- 
tecting wing  of  its  mother.  It  is  a  law  of 
life  itself  that  we  cannot  always  stay  at 
home.  If  the  children  were  to  remain  at 
home  through  life,  if  this  were  the  natural 
order  of  things,  the  institution  of  home  would 
be  impossible,  for  each  home  would  grow 
with  the  accumulating  generations,  till  at 
length  it  would  outgrow  the  boundaries  that 
must  define  a  home,  and  the  institution  would  be  lost  in 
general  society.  To  avert  this  disaster  nature  has  ar- 
ranged that  the  child  shall  leave  his  home  when  he  has  be- 
come competent  to  care  for  himself,  and  should  organize 
another  home.  Thus  each  generation  repeats  the  pro- 
gramme of  the  preceding. 

The  proper  function  of  the  home  is  to  serve  as  the  nur- 
sery of  the  race,  to  protect  the  young  germs  of  manhood 
and  womanhood  till  they  have  become  sufficiently  strong 
to  compel  society  and  the  world  to  yield  them  the  required 
physical  and  mental  sustenance.     And  yet  this  metaphor 


LEAVING  HOME.  339 

hardly  serves  our  purpose,  since  the  child  does  not  leave 
his  home  to  enter  into  the  great  tide  of  the  world  and  be- 
come a  floating  speck  on  the  turbulent  surface  of  society, 
but,  like  the  young  tree,  he  is  simply  transplanted  from 
the  nursery  to  become  the  fruitful  source  of  another  nur- 
sery. There  is  no  natural  requirement  of  life  that  is  not 
preceded  by  a  desire  and  impulse  in  that  direction.  Ac- 
cordingly the  young  man,  as  he  approaches  the  age  of  ma- 
turity, begins  to  feel  the  gentle  stimulus  of  a  curious 
enterprise  urging  him  to  look  beyond  the  walls  of  the  old 
home  out  into  the  great  world.  He  hears  the  distant  hum 
of  the  great  city,  he  feels  the  electric  throb  of  the  rushing 
train,  and  longs  to  mingle  in  the  ceaseless  tumult  of  life, — 

In  the  strife  of  brain  and  pen, 

'Mid  the  rumble  of  the  presses 
Where  they  measure  men  with  men. 

Under  the  impulse  of  this  feeling,  he  leaves  the  old 
home,  but  not  forever.  No  young  man  or  woman  ever 
leaves  home  with  the  intention  of  abandoning  it  forever. 
The  dutiful  child  carries  away  the  home  with  him.  He  is 
himself  a  product  of  the  home.  Every  feature  of  his  char- 
acter reflects  the  character  of  the  home.  As  the  tree  re- 
cords the  character  of  the  soil  and  climate,  so  the  young 
man  carries  ever  with  him  the  old  home.  Every  mother 
is  carried  into  the  city  on  the  brow  of  her  son.  Her  care, 
her  love,  her  examples,  her  prayers,  are  all  written  there. 
The  city  knows  the  country  in  this  way.     It  reads  the 


MA  OUR  HOME. 

history  of  the  country  on  the  brows  of  the  farmer  boys. 
How  careful,  then,  should  parents  be  in  regard  to  these 
reports  which  they  are  sending  into  the  cities.  The  little 
borne  t  hiit  nestles  among  the  hills  shall  be  published  to  the 
world,  and  the  silent  influence  of  its  daily  life  shall  blend 
with  the  surging  paauonfl  that  drive  the  tide  of  human  life 
along  the  crowded  streets. 

Mother !  your  life  is  not  insignificant.  It  is  not  and 
cannot  be  isolated  from  universal  significance,  for  your 
boy  shall  bear  it  into  the  great  tide  that  never  ebbs.  The 
story  of  the  fireside  is  written  upon  the  altars  of  great  ca- 
thedrals, in  senate  chambers,  and  in  the  busy  mart.  It  is 
inseribed  in  invi>il>le  diameters  upon  the  sides  of  steam- 
boats and  railway  trains,  and  on  the  marble  fronts  of  the 
brilliant  temples  of  trade.  The  great  outward  world  of 
commercial  storm  and  sunshine,  of  laughter  and  weeping, 
of  honor  and  dishonor,  draws  its  life  from  the  home.  It  is 
linked  to  the  hearthstone  by  a  thousand  ties  that  run  far 
under  the  surface  of  society.  The  leaving  of  home  is  an 
experience  in  one's  life  freighted  with  momentous  conse- 
quences. It  is  a  fact  in  botany  that  the  critical  period  in 
the  life  of  a  plant  is  when  it  has  consumed  all  the  albumen 
red  up  in  the  seed  for  its  support,  and  is  just  beginning 
to  put  forth  its  tender  little  rootlets  into  the  outer  soil,  to 
draw  henceforth  in  independence  its  life  from  the  earth's 
great  storehouse.  So  the  critical  and  dangerous  period  of 
-a  child's  life  is  when  he  has  burst  the  environments  of 


LEAVING  HOME.  341 

home,  and  steps  out  from  the  little  quiet  circle  to  earn  his 
first  morsel  of  bread  with  his  own  hands,  and  to  negotiate 
independently  with  the  great  crafty  world.  This  is  the 
period  that  tries  the  character  and  tests  its  genuineness. 
If  the  young  man  withstands  the  shock  that  comes  with 
the  first  wild  consciousness  that  he  is  in  a  city,  and  that 
the  currents  and  counter  currents  of  life  are  dashing 
in  bewildering  torrents  at  his  feet,  if  amid  the  surges  and 
the  clinging  spray,  he  stands  firmly  anchored  to  the  rock 
of  home-born  principle,  if  he  does  not  grow  dizzy  and  mad 
with  the  ceaseless  roar  and  rumble,  if  he,  in  safety,  passes 
for  the  first  time  the  brilliant  fronts  of  illuminated  hells, 
and  with  mother's  benediction  on  his  lips,  turns  coldly 
from  the  first  alluring  invitation  of  the  tempter,  he  has 
passed  the  fearful  crisis  of  his  life.  We  would  not,  of 
course,  contend  that  the  only  danger  to  this  young  man 
from  city  influences  comes  with  his  first  actual  entrance 
into  the  city,  that  he  is  never  in  danger  after  he  has  once 
passed  by  a  brilliantly  lighted  den  of  iniquity. 

We  simply  mean  that  if  the  young  man  succeeds  in 
resisting  the  temptations  that  beset  him  during  that  period 
in  which  he  feels  the  elation  of  his  independence,  he  has 
passed  the  most  critical  period.  This  is  the  period  in 
which  the  young  man's  character  is  particularly  suscepti- 
ble to  evil  influences,  and  if  he  succeeds  in  establishing  his 
social  relations  in  the  city  on  the  proper  basis,  and  becomes 
himself  established  as  a  permanent  member  of  society,  he 


OUR  HOME. 

is  comparatively  safe.  There  is  always  a  feeling  of  romance 
which  accompanies  the  young  man  on  his  first  entrance 
into  the  city.  There  is  a  poetry  in  the  rhythmic  vibrations 
of  the  living  mass.  He  feels  himself  a  part  of  this  mass, 
and  in  a  certain  sense  he  feels  that  he  is  the  mechanical 
equivalent  of  its  never  ceasing  motion.  Under  such  cir- 
cumstances one  is  peculiarly  susceptible  to  social  influences. 

Those  things  which  awaken  the  sense  of  the  poetical  and 
the  romantic  are  the  most  powerful  in  their  influences  over 
one  who  is  trying  to  veil  the  rural  and  take  on  the  airs  of 
city  life.  Unfortunately  for  the  race,  the  most  poetical 
and  romantic  in  life  is  often  that  which  is  in  some  way 
associated  with  profligacy  and  vice.  Thousands  of  young 
men  of  literary  aspirations  and  brilliant  talents,  through 
the  glittering  but  deadly  romance  of  Poe's  life,  and  the 
poetry  of  Byron's  gilded  vice,  have  gone  out  like  stars 
which  the  veil  of  the  storm  has  hidden. 

Hence  the  evil  influences  of  the  city  which  appeal  most 
strongly  to  the  young  country  lad,  suddenly  transformed 
into  a  poet  through  the  inspiration  of  the  great  city,  are 
those  which  clothe  themselves  with  the  livery  of  beauty, 
which  sparkle  with  the  gems  of  wit,  and  lull  to  sleep  on 
enticing  couches  with  the  drowsy  strains  of'tinkling  music. 

Were  it  not  for  that  perverted  principle  in  human  nature 
that  sees  poetry  in  vice,  the  leaving  of  home  would  not  be 
such  a  catastrophe  to  the  young  man.  Parents  should  be 
careful  not  to  allow  their  children,  except  in  cases  of  neces- 


LEAVING  HOME.  343 

sity,  to  leave  home  until  their  characters  are  so  far  estab- 
lished as  to  be  comparatively  safe  from  the  evil  influences 
that  must  surround  them  elsewhere.  Young  children  are 
never  safe  away  from  home. 

There  is  no  age  in  which  a  person  can  enter  for  the  first 
time  into  general  society  away  from  home  with  absolute 
safety,  yet  the  danger  is  particularly  great  to  the  young. 
If  a  child  is  of  a  romantic  turn  of  mind  and  enjoys  the 
reading  of  novels,  his  parents  should  be  particularly  solici- 
tous concerning  his  welfare  when  he  goes  for  the  first  time 
into  society. 

Even  a  fondness  for  poetry,  which  would  seem  to  be  the 
purest  and  most  innocent  affection  of  the  mind,  indicates 
the  presence  of  those  characteristics  which  render  one  pe- 
culiarly susceptible  to  the  temptations  of  the  great  city. 
The  wisest  precaution  that  a  parent  can  take  when  his 
child  is  about  to  leave  home,  is  to  arrange  his  social  rela- 
tions in  advance  for  him.  Arrangements  can  almost  al- 
ways be  made  for  his  introduction  into  those  circles  of 
society  where  he  may  find  desirable  amusements,  and  at 
the  same  time  be  surrounded  by  good  and  wholesome  in- 
fluences. 

Probably  the  most  frequent  cause  for  which  children 
leave  home  earlier  than  they  ought,  is  for  the  purpose  of 
attending  school.  The  practice  of  sending  young  children 
away  to  boarding  schools  is,  however,  not  so  common  as 
formerly,  from  the  fact  that  the  common  schools  are  be- 


;U4  OUR  HOME. 

coming  more  efficient.  Boys  can  now  be  fitted  for  college 
in  many  of  the  free  public  schools,  while  they  still  remain 
at  home  and  under  the  supervision  of  their  parents. 

This  is  certainly  better  than  sending  them  away.  In- 
deed, except  in  rare  cases,  the  latter  practice  should  be 
abandoned  altogether.  There  are  several  circumstances 
that  combine  to  render  children  at  boarding  school  pecu- 
liarly liable  to  danger.  In  the  first  place,  they  are  usu- 
ally at  that  age  when  they  would  be  most  easily  led  astray; 
and,  second,  the  occupation  at  school  being  of  course 
wholly  mental,  the  body  is  left  without  sufficient  exercise, 
and,  in  consequence,  the  whole  physical  being  feels  a  buoy- 
ancy which  is  very  dangerous  unless  under  the  guidance 
and  oversight  of  parents.  Again,  the  stringent  rules  of 
conduct  at  most  boarding  schools  always  have  a  tendency 
to  awaken  the  mischievous  in  boys  and  girls. 

1 1  is  a  fact  which  has  been  proved  by  the  experience  of 
every  educational  institution  in  which  such  rules  exist, 
that  the  tendency  to  violation  is  almost  in  direct  ratio  to 
the  stringency  of  the  rules.  Consider,  for  example,  the 
ordinary  boarding  school  rules  relative  to  the  association 
of  the  sexes.  In  many  cases  the  young  man  might  call 
upon  a  lady  school-mate  with  profit  to  both  parties,  if  there 
were  no  rules  prohibiting  such  an  association,  but  when  a 
young  man  calls  clandestinely  upon  a  young  lady,  the  se- 
cret sense  of  having  violated  rules  whose  authority  they 
are  supposed  to  recognize  often  has  a  disastrous  effect  upon 


LEAVING  HOME.  345 

their  whole  moral  nature.  But  whatever  we  may  believe 
concerning  the  propriety  or  impropriety  of  such  rules,  it 
cannot  alter  the  fact  of  their  existence  in  almost  every  sem- 
inary and  boarding  school.  The  rules  may  be  the  choice 
of  the  smaller  evil.  On  this  subject,  however,  we  have  our 
doubts,  and  yet  we  do  not  deny  that  there  might  be  danger 
without  them. 

Under  the  circumstances  we  think  the  wisest  course  for 
parents  is  to  secure  the  education  of  their  children  where 
they  can  exercise  a  personal  supervision  over  them.  What- 
ever may  be  the  occasion  for  leaving  home,  whatever  may 
have  been  the  character  of  the  home,  there  comes  to 
every  soul  at  that  moment  a  pang  of  regret  which  scorns 
the  finest  ministries  of  language.  Earth  has  no  more  pa- 
thetic scene  than  that  divine  tableau  of  youth's  departure 
from  the  old  home  where  mother  and  child,  beneath  the 
changing  colors  of  joy  and  sorrow,  stand  folded  in  the  final 
embrace  amid  the  silence  of  tears  and  kisses.  That  gush 
of  holy  emotion  serves  a  purpose  in  the  economy  of  our 
nature  ;  it  is  to  bind  the  soul  with  cords  of  everlasting 
remembrances  to  that  firm  anchor  in  the  great  deep  of  life, 
the  home  of  childhood.    ' 

"  I  never  knew  how  well  I  loved 
The  little  cot  where  I  was  born, 
Until  I  stood  beside  the  gate 
One  pleasant,  early  summer  morn, 
And  listened  to  my  mother's  voice. 
She  spoke  such  words  as  mothers  speak — 
Of  cheer  and  hope— and  all  the  while 


346 


OUR  HOME. 


The  tear  drops  glistened  on  her  cheek. 
And  soon  she  turned  and  plucked  a  rose 
That  grew  beside  the  cottage  door, 
And,  smiling,  pinned  it  to  my  coat, 
As  she  had  often  done  before. 
I  went  away:  'twas  long  ago, 
Still  ever,  till  my  life  shall  close, 
The  dearest  treasure  I  can  know 
Will  be  a  faded  little  rose." 


MEMORIES  OF  HOME. 


EAR  to  us  still  are  the  friendships  we  formed 
at  the  public  schools,  and  hard  was  the 
breaking  of  those  ties,  yet  we  cherish  no 
such  memories  of  our  school-mates  as  we  do 
of  home  and  mother. 

If  we  have  not  already  sundered  the  ties  of 
home,  the  time  will  come  all  too  soon  when 
the  silken  cord  must  be  severed.  This 
thought  should  make  us  eager  to  enjoy  all 
we  can  the  sweet  dream  of  childhood.  If  we 
are  making  preparations  for  a  new  home 
which  the  poetry  of  youth  has  painted  with 
brilliant  colors,  we  should  not  forget  that  the 
walls  of  that  new  home  must  be  forever  dec- 
orated with  the  picture  of  the  old  one.  You 
may  place  the  wide  expanse  of  ocean  between 
the  two  homes,  but  memory  will  paint  the 
home  of  your  childhood,  and  whatever  you 
may  say  or  do,  will  persist  in  hanging  the 
picture  on  the  walls  of  your  parlor,  your  chamber,  and 
your  library.    We  may  make  our  new  home  all  that  wealth 


OUR  HOME. 

and  taste  can  produce,  we  may  lavish  upon  it  all  the  rich 
accumulations  of  youth  and  manhood,  but  beside  the  costly 
paintings  that  adorn  the  walls  of  its  parlor,  there  must  hang 
that  old  picture.  Do  what  you  will,  it  must  hang  there 
forever.  If  you  take  it  down,  an  invisible  hand  rehangs 
it.  It  is  a  magic  picture,  and  it  requires  not  the  light  of 
day  to  see  it.  You  can  see  it  better  in  the  hushed  still- 
ness of  the  night  than  in  the  light  of  day.  If  the  associa- 
tions of  that  old  home  have  been  unpleasant,  if  there  is  in 
that  picture  a  mother,  who,  in  the  little  room  you  used  to 
occupy,  sits  weeping  over  your  waywardness,  with  the 
dark  autographs  of  sorrow  written  across  her  brow,  if 
there  is  a  sister  with  downcast  look,  a  father  sitting  by  the 
ti  reside  with  his  head  resting  upon  his  hands,  prematurely 
old  because  you  broke  his  heart,  how  will  that  picture 
haitllt  your  guilty  soul  in  the  night,  how  will  its  sadness 
embitter  every  cup  of  joy,  and  turn  to  wormwood  every 
pleasure. 

You  cannot  ask  that  father's  forgiveness,  it  is  too  late. 
You  cannot  go  to  mother,  whose  loving  hand  might,  per- 
haps, put  a  veil  over  that  hateful  picture,  or  hang  in  its 
place  a  more  beautiful  one.  It  is  too  late  for  this,  for  you 
helped  bring  a  coffin  to  that  old  home,  long,  long  ago,  and 
be  assured  that  coffin  will  be  painted  in  one  corner  of  the 
picture.  You  can  go  to  the  old  home,  but  the  shed  where 
you  played  with  your  little  sister  will  be  torn  down,  the 
house  will  be  changed,  everything  will  look  strange  except, 


MEMORIES  OF  HOME.  349 

perhaps,  the  old  orchard.  But  this  will  revive  no  pleasant 
memories,  nothing  but  the  sad  day  when  you  quarreled 
about  picking  the  apples,  and  struck  your  little  brother, 
who  is  now  sleeping  just  back  of  the  house  in  the  garden 
beside  his  mother.  You  can  go  out  there  and  call  his 
name,  but  he  will  not  hear  you.  You  may  strew  with 
flowers  the  grave  of  father,  mother  and  brother ;  you  may 
erect  costly  stones,  but  these  will  not  atone. 

No:  do  not  wait  for  that  sad  day,  but  while  mother  and 
father  are  still  alive,  and  your  little  brother  is  with  you, 
make  home  cheerful.  Keep  mother's  forehead  smooth,  and 
father's  hair  unsilvered  just  as  long  as  you  can. 

If  you  cannot  love  mother  and  make  her  happy,  you 
cannot  truly  love  and  make  happy  the  heart  of  any  woman. 

We  exercise  the  greatest  care  in  selecting  the  real  pic- 
tures with  which  we  adorn  our  homes,  and  if  we  do  not 
afterwards  like  them,  we  can  dispose  of  them  and  forget 
them.  Why  should  we  not,  then,  be  infinitely  more  care- 
ful concerning  the  character  of  that  picture  on  which  we 
shall  be  compelled  to  gaze  through  life? 

Through  the  power  of  memory  the  influences  of  home 
again  become  active  in  our  lives.  The  peculiar  circum- 
stances of  any  particular  portion  of  our  lives  after  we  have 
left  the  old  home,  seldom  produce  lasting  impressions  upon 
our  minds.  We  are  not  likely  to  remember  vividly  our 
experiences  between  the  ages  of  thirty-five  and  forty,  at 
least,  not  in  such  a  way  that  the  remembrance  exerts  an 


800  OUR  HOME. 

influence  over  our  lives  and  thoughts.  But  by  a  wise  and 
beneficent  plan  we  are  so  constituted  that  the  memories 
of  our  early  home,  the  memories  of  that  period  in  which 
our  characters  were  shaped,  shall  be  influential  through 
life.  There  seems  to  be  a  subtile  and  peculiar  propriety  in 
this  fact. 

The  ordinary  influences  of  life  leave  a  sufficiently  deep 
impression  upon  our  characters  as  they  pass  without  being 
repeated,  or,  at  least,  not  oftener  than  their  periodical  na- 
ture may  ensure.  But  here  we  find  a  special  provision 
made  to  meet  a  required  exception.  Just  at  that  period 
in  our  lives  when  the  good  and  kindly  influences  of  home 
are  supposed  to  mold  into  consistent  form  the  chaotic  ele- 
ments of  our  character,  a  principle  is  introduced  whereby 
those  influences  are  made  to  be  self  repeating  through  life. 
The  instrumentality  through  which  this  is  effected  is  the 
spirit  of  poetry  which  pervades  the  memory  of  these  early 
years.  No  other  period  of  our  lives  so  lends  itself  to  the 
play  of  our  own  imaginations. 

There  is  nothing  in  life's  experience  that  so  quickly  and 
effectually  awakens  in  the  heart  those  better  elements  that 
ally  us  "  to  angels  and  to  God  "  as  the  sacred  memories  of 
home.  This  fact  constitutes  a  positive  power  in  our  lives, 
and  growing  out  of  this  fact  is  the  highest  duty  of  life,  the 
duty  to  make  the  character  of  our  home  such  that  its  cher- 
ished memories  shall  be  a  developing  and  gladdening  influ- 
ence through  life. 


MEMORIES  OF  HOME.  351 

"  O  memory,  be  sweet  to  me — 
Take,  take  all  else  at  will, 
So  tbou  but  leave  me  safe  and  sound, 
Without  a  token  my  heart  to  wound, 
The  little  house  on  the  hill! 

"  Take  all  of  best  from  east  to  weit, 
So  thou  but  leave  me  still 
The  chamber,  where  in  the  starry  light 
I  used  to  lie  awake  at  night 
And  list  to  the  whip-poor-will. 

"  Take  violet-bed,  and  rose-tree  red, 
And  the  purple  flags  by  the  mill, 
The  meadow  gay,  and  the  garden-ground, 
But  leave,  Oh  leave  me  safe  and  sound 
The  little  house  on  the  hill! 

"  The  daisy-lane,  and  the  dove's  low  plain 
And  the  cuckoo's  tender  bill, 
Take  one  and  all,  but  leave  the  dreams 
That  turned  the  rafters  to  golden  beams, 
In  the  little  house  on  the  bill! 

"  The  gables  brown,  they  have  tumbled  down, 
And  dry  is  the  brook  by  the  mill; 
The  sheets  I  used  with  care  to  keep 
Have  wrapt  my  dead  for  the  last  long  sleep, 
In  the  valley,  low  and  still. 

u  But,  memory,  be  sweet  to  me, 
And  build  the  walls,  at  will, 
Of  the  chamber  where  I  used  to  mark, 
So  softly  rippling  over  the  dark, 
The  song  of  the  whip-poor-will! 

"  Ah,  memory,  be  sweet  to  me! 
All  other  fountains  chill ; 
But  leave  that  song  so  weird  and  wild, 
Dear  as  its  life  to  the  heart  of  the  child, 
In  the  little  house  on  the  hill!  " 


TRIALS  OF  HOME. 


E  shall  consider  in  another  chapter,  under 
the  head  of  sorrow  and  its  meaning,  those 
great  sorrows  which  sometimes  visit  individ- 
uals, but  which  are  not  universal.  They 
constitute  the  heroic  treatment  of  the  few 
who  languish  in  the  silent  and  more  terrible 
wards  of  earth's  great  hospital. 

But  by  the  trials  of  home  we  mean  those 
thousand  little  annoyances  of  life  whose 
sphere  of  action  is  for  the  most  part  home. 
In  their  individual  capacity  they  are  insignifi- 
cant, and  perhaps  unworthy  of  notice,  and 
yet  their  aggregate  significance  is  written  in 
dark  and  heavy  lines  on  many  a  mother's  brow.  They  are 
the  crosses  from  which  none  escape,  the  inevitable  experi- 
ences of  every  human  being.  Those  who  scorn  them  as 
unworthy  of  notice  do  not  understand  their  meaning. 

If  every  human  desire  were  adequate  to  its  own  immedi- 
ate gratification,  there  would  be  no  such  thing  as  trials  and 
disappointments.  But  every  want  of  humanity  is  sepa- 
rated from  its  gratification  by  the  length  and  breadth  of  an 
effort,  and  the  greater  the  want,  the  longer  and  broader  the 


TRIALS  OF  HOME.  353 

required  effort.  And  it  often  happens  that  the  effort  is  too 
short  to  span  the  chasm.  There  is  no  system  of  measure- 
ment by  which  we  can  adapt  the  effort  to  the  intervening 
chasm.  Every  effort  of  man  is  an  experiment.  It  is  like 
building  a  light  bridge  on  land,  with  which  to  span  a 
stream,  the  breadth  of  which  we  have  not  measured. 
When  we  come  to  lay  it  across  the  stream  it  may  be  too 
short. 

Trials  and  disappointments  for  the  most  part  owe  their 
origin  to  this  fact,  that  human  effort  is  found  falling  short 
of  its  goal. 

The  path  of  life  runs  so  crooked  that  we  cannot  see 
around  the  curves.  Then  there  are  so  many  junctions  that 
the  time  tables  are  forever  getting  mixed  up. 

Under  these  circumstances  life  can  never  run  smoothly. 
There  will  be  trials  as  long  as  humanity  exists. 

The  mind  desires  ease,  and  only  so  much  exercise  as  is 
prompted  by  its  own  spontaneous  impulse.  When  it  is 
required  to  step  aside  from  the  path  of  its  own  preferences 
there  is  a  spiritual  resistance,  and  a  tendency  to  chafe  and 
fret.  These  little  tendencies  and  influences  are  what  we 
mean  by  the  trials  of  home. 

One  has  said,  "  It  may  not  seem  a  great  thing  to  have  a 
constantly  nagging  companion,  or  boots  that  always  hurt 
your  corns,  or  linen  that  is  never  properly  starched,  or  to 
have  to  read  crossed  letters,  or  go  to  stupid  parties,  or 
consult  books  without  indexes, — but  to  the  sufferer  they 


OUR  HOME. 

are  very  tangible  oppressions,  and  in  our  short  space  of 
working  life  not  to  be  made  light  of." 

No  truer  words  were  ever  uttered.  Who  has  not  no- 
ticed the  almost  absolute  control  which  an  uneasy  boot 
will  sometimes  assert  over  the  whole  mind  ? 

A  sermon  to-day  may  sound  almost  divine  to  us  in  a 
pair  of  slippers,  but  yesterday,  in  a  pair  of  new  boots,  we 
should  have  regarded  the  same  sermon  as  intolerably 
stupid. 

A  star  actor,  if  thrown  suddenly  into  the  presence  of 
his  lady  love,  in  a  pair  of  overalls,  will  appear  awkward  in 
his  movements. 

How  fretful  we  sometimes  feel  when  we  are  hungry.  A 
baked  potato  will  produce  such  ■  change  in  us  that  we 
hardly  know  ourselves.  The  toothache  has  been  known 
to  transform  in  half  an  hour  a  saint  into  a  sinner.  How 
quickly  will  music  calm  an  angry  child. 

"  The  trifles  of  our  daily  lives, 
The  common  things  scarce  worth  recall, 
Whereof  no  visible  trace  survives, 
These  are  the  mainsprings  after  all. 
Destiny  is  not  without  thee,  but  within, 
Thyself  must  make  thyself." 

All  these  facts  only  show  what  a  powerful  influence  lit- 
tle things  may  have  over  us.  Our  lives  are  made  up  of 
moments,  and  the  character  of  each  moment  depends  upon 
the  influences  of  that  moment;  and  it  requires  but  a  very 
small  influence  to  change  the  character  of  a  moment. 


TRIALS  OF  HOME.  355 

All  growth  is  but  a  perpetual  conquest  over  opposing 
forces.  There  can  be  no  growth,  physical,  intellectual,  or 
spiritual,  except  through  the  resistance  to  that  element  in 
which  it  grows.  It  is  not  necessary,  however,  that  these 
conquests  should  come  as  the  issue  of  great  efforts  or  over- 
whelming sorrows.  The  triumphs  of  life  are  those  which 
we  win  over  self,  and  these  are  won  on  little  battle  fields ; 
in  the  kitchen,  in  the  nursery,  at  the  breakfast  table,  on 
Mondays  at  the  wash-tub,  in  the  stable  with  a  fractious, 
exasperating  horse,  in  the  field  with  the  cattle,  or  amid  the 
little  vexations  and  annoyances  of  every  day;  as  the 
breachy  sheep,  the  broken  mowing  machine,  or  the  disap- 
pointment of  a  rainy  day. 

It  is  by  trifles  like  these  that  human  souls  are  tested. 

In  overlooking  these  little  trials,  we  overlook  a  very 
important  principle  along  with  them.  It  is  that  principle 
which  distinguishes  the  effects  of  little  sorrows  from  those 
of  great  ones.  Simultaneously  with  the  great  sorrows 
there  is  developed  in  the  soul  a  power  of  heroic  endurance. 
Most  of  us  have  experienced  at  least  one  great  stroke  of 
grief,  one  which  we  had  contemplated  with  such  a  shrink- 
ing that  we  believed  it  would  be  impossible  for  us  to  stand 
up  beneath  its  weight ;  but  when  the  blow  came  we  were 
surprised  at  our  own  heroic  calmness.  This  experience 
will  always  be  found  to  accompany  a  great  sorrow,  and 
serve  in  part  as  a  compensation.  This  arises  from  the 
sense  of  the  inevitable  which  always  accompanies  a  great 


356  OUR  HOME. 

stroke.  There  conies  over  every  one  in  the  moment  of 
utter  despair  u  feeling  that  approaches  to  satisfaction,  and 
BO  Strong  i>  this  tendency  in  some  that  when  the  despair 
has  been  found  to  be  groundless,  there  has  actually  come 
with  the  first  instant  of  relief  a  wish  that  it  might  have 
been  otherwise,  that  they  might  have  seen  the  worst. 

The  testimony  of  Du  Chaillu  concerning  his  feelings 
when  he  had  been  stricken  down  by  a  lion  confirms  the 

-tence  of  this  principle  in  human  nature.  He  expresses 
his  feelings  as  those  of  perfect  satisfaction  and  resignation 
to  his  fate.  Edgar  A.  Poe,  with  his  almost  divine  intuition, 
makes  one  of  the  characters  in  his  "  Descent  into  the  Mael- 
strom "  experience  something  of  this  same  feeling. 

These  feelings  of  course  are  but  momentary  flashes  of 
insanity,  but  they  show  that  God  has  implanted  in  us  an 
instinctive  satisfaction  with  the  inevitable,  however  deeply 
it  may  involve  our  own  souls  in  pain  and  sorrow.  When 
one  refuses  to  be  reconciled  to  a  great  bereavement,  there 
is  still  in  his  heart  a  secret  feeling  of  rebellion.  It  may  be 
because  he  possesses  this  instinct  in  a  less  degree  than 
others,  since  all  the  instincts  of  human  nature  vary  in  dif- 
ferent individuals;  but  in  most  cases  it  will  be  found  that 
his  sorrow  is  superficial  and  does  not  take  hold  on  the 
depths  of  his  nature. 

In  the  little  sorrows  of  life  this  principle  is  seldom  mani- 
fested. This  is  why  small  troubles  weigh  far  more  heavily 
upon  the  heart  in  proportion  to  their  magnitude  than  the 


TRIALS  OF  HOME.  357 

great  ones.  We  are  of  the  opinion,  however,  that  it  was  the 
divine  plan  that  this  principle  should  manifest  itself  even 
in  the  smallest  sorrows  and  trials  of  life,  but  that  through 
constant  rebellion  the  race  have  come  to  that  condition  in 
which  they  do  not  experience  it  except  in  the  emergency 
of  great  sorrow  or  danger. 

But  however  this  may  be,  the  cultivation  of  that  instinct 
in  us  can  do  no  harm,  and  if  we  can  so  cultivate  and 
develop  it  that  we  shall  feel  a  sense  of  acquiescence  and 
resignation  in  every  little  trial  of  our  lives,  till  the  gnat 
and  the  mosquito  shall  seem  to  us  to  have  rights  equal  to 
our  own,  we  have  surely  won  a  triumph  that  would  become 
an  angel's  crown. 

This,  then,  is  our  advice  to  those  who  are  weighed  down 
with  the  little  trials  of  life :  cultivate  the  instinct  of  resig- 
nation, try  to  feel  satisfied  with  every  fate  that  befalls  you. 
This  is  not  an  impossible  task.  Your  efforts  will  be  re- 
warded. It  will  become  easier  and  easier  for  you  to  at- 
tempt to  do  it,  until  at  last  your  trials  will  become  joys. 
If  you  cannot  feel  that  God  ordained  your  trials,  if  you 
cannot  regard  them  as  a  part  of  the  infinite  plan,  you  must 
certainly  consider  them  as  the  just  penalty  for  your  own 
transgressions.  In  either  case  you  can  reason  yourself  into 
a  feeling  of  satisfaction. 

Little  sorrows,  like  the  great  ones,  are  disciplinary  in 
their  nature,  and  if  the  sufferer  does  not  degenerate  into  a 
fretful  and  irritable  being,  they  will  develop  his  spiritual 


358  OUR  HOME. 

health.  If  he  keeps  ever  in  mind  that  he  suffers  chiefly 
because  his  soul  is  divinely  receptive,  that  his  very  suffer- 
ing but  measures  his  spirit's  capacity  for  joy, — his  charac- 
ter will  in  the  end  blossom  forth  and  bear  fruits  all  the 
sweeter  for  the  trials. 

"  What's  the  use  of  always  fretting 
At  the  trials  we  shall  find 
Ever  strewn  along  our  pathway  ? 
Travel  on,  and  never  mind. 

"Travel  onward,  working,  hoping, 
Cast  no  lingering  look  behind 
At  the  trials  once  encountered; 
Look  ahead,  and  never  mind. 

M  What  is  past,  is  past  forever; 
Let  all  the  fretting  be  resigned; 
It  will  never  help  the  matter — 
Do  your  best,  and  never  mind. 

14  And  if  those  who  might  befriend  you, 
Whom  the  ties  of  nature  bind, 
Should  refuse  to  do  their  duty, 
Look  to  heaven,  and  never  mind. 

"  Friendly  words  are  often  spoken 
Wkea  the  feelings  are  unkind; 
Take  them  for  their  real  value, 
Pass  them  on,  and  never  mind. 

"  Fate  may  threaten,  clouds  may  lower, 
Enemies  may  be  combined ; 
If  your  trust  in  God  is  steadfast, 
He  will  help  you,— never  mind." 


SORROW  AND  ITS  MEANING. 


|  HETHER  sorrow  should  be  regarded  as  pos- 
sessing a  rightful  place  in  the  economy  of 
being,  or  simply  as  an  intruder,  for  whose 
stealthy  entrance  into  the  halls  of  joy  and 
beauty  man  is  wholly  responsible,  is  a  prob- 
lem which  many  regard  as  too  difficult  for 
solution  by  finite  mind,  and  which  it  is 
blasphemy  to  attempt  to  solve. 
Yet  we  cannot  help  asking :  Why  the  mighty  wail  of 
anguish  and  pain  that  goes  up  unceasingly  from  the  lips 
of  Nature  ?  Why  does  the  rose  conceal  a  thorn  ?  Why 
blossoms  the  loveliest  flower  just  where  the  deadly-night- 
shade distills  its  poison  dew  upon  its  snowy  petals?  Why 
are  the  heavens  deaf  to  the  cry  of  wounded  innocence  ? 
Why  are  the  fairest  and  the  loveliest  in  the  armies  of  the 
just  and  good  permitted  to  fall  like  withered  roses  before 
the  iron  hail  of  treason's  hosts  ?  Why  has  all  that  is 
good  and  lovely  in  human  history  been  bought  with  blood, 
while  virtue's  victorious  shout  is  preceded  by  the  martyr's 
shriek  ?  Can  an  agency  so  wide-spread  and  vast  in  its 
relations  as  that  of  pain  and  suffering  exist  in  nature,  and 
implicate  no  higher   instrumentality    than    human   folly? 


360  OUR  110  ME. 

It  may  be  said  that,  since  all  suffering  comes  from  the 
breach  of  natural  law,  and  since  God  has  given  us  the  fac- 
ulty of  caution,  by  which  we  are  enabled  to  guard  against 
danger  and  accidental  suffering,  it  cannot  be  true  that  sor- 
row and  suffering  are  natural,  and  hence  divinely  sanc- 
tioned, bllt,  on  the  contrary,  they  must  owe  their  origin 
wholly  to  the  voluntary  action  of  man. 

But  God  has  given  us  no  faculty  by  which  we  can  pre- 
dict an  earthquake.  He  placed  us  upon  the  earth  before 
he  had  finished  it,  while  yet  his  engines  were  roaring,  and 
his  furnaces  glowing,  while  the  deadly  sparks  were  still 
living  from  his  mighty  anvil. 

Now,  in  order  that  man  should  be  wholly  responsible  for 
pain  and  suffering,  he  should  have  faculties  sufficiently 
powerful  to  grasp  and  analyze  the  divine  plan,  so.  that  he 
might  anticipate  and  make  provision  for  all  possible 
movements  in  the  universe.  The  fact  that  man  cannot 
thus  anticipate  the  changes  of  direction  in  the  universal 
movement,  proves  danger  and  pain  and  sorrow  to  be  di- 
vinely appointed*  The  ant  cannot  anticipate  the  move- 
in*  -iit  of  the  foot  that  steps  upon  its  little  mound. 

Is  it  not  possible,  after  all,  that  history  with  all  its  crim- 
son blots,  with  all  its  agony  uttered  and  unuttered,  with 
all  of  that  which  we  call  evil,  but  which  to  God  may  be 
but  a  necessary  and  momentary  discord  in  the  tuning  of 
being's  mighty  orchestra, — is  it  not  possible  that  all  this, 
just  as  it  is,  constitutes  a  mighty  whole,  of  whose  sublime 


SORRO  W  AND  ITS  MEANING.  •      361 

and  infinite  meaning  we  catch  as  yet  but  a  feeble  hint? 
Does  not  any  other  philosophy  necessarily  assign  to  the 
hnman  will  the  power  to  intercept  at  any  desired  point 
the  Divine  plan  ?  Is  not  the  highest  and  grandest  philos- 
ophy after  all,  that  which  lays  the  human  will  itself  in  the 
hands  of  God,  the  only  "  Uncaused  Cause,"  and  acknowl- 
edges the  endorsement  upon  the  parchment  of  human  his- 
tory, of  him  who  holds  in  his  volition  the  potentialities  of 
all  history  ? 

Sorrow  and  pain  when  projected  into  the  atmosphere  of 
divine  and  eternal  significance  may  lose  the  superficial 
qualities  that  we  assign  to  them,  and  find  their  places  in 
the  "eternal  fitness  of  things." 

Perhaps,  if  we  could  see  creation  in  its  entirety,  and  know 
the  inter-relations  of  its  myriad  parts,  we  should  rejoice 
over  that  which  now  causes  us  sorrow.  To  us,  the  grand- 
eur of  the  ocean  is  marred  by  the  sight  of  a  wreck,  but  to 
him  who  holds  that  ocean  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand,  the 
wreck,  the  pale  lips  and  the  despairing  cry  may  be  nec- 
essary to  the  expression  of  a  higher  and  grander  meaning. 
The  toad  sees  evil  and  only  evil  in  the  crushing  wheel  of 
the  fire-engine  as  it  flies  on  its  errand  of  good.  So  we,  in 
our  worm-like  ignorance  and  isolation  can  see  nothing  but 
evil  in  the  engines  of  sorrow  that  pass  over  our  souls,  where 
they  must  pass,  since  our  souls  lie  across  their  path. 

The  universe  is  all  of  one  purpose,  "  so  compact "  that  if 
we  could  know  perfectly  any  nook  or  corner  we  should 


362  OUR  HOME. 

know  all,  for  the  awful  secret  of  the  Absolute  is  concealed 
in  every  finite  entity.  If  we  could  read  all  the  meaning 
there  is  in  a  single  strain  of  music,  we  could  translate  the 
infinite  harmonies  of  the  universe.  Could  we  tell  why  an 
atom  of  oxygen  prefers  an  atom  of  potassium  to  one  of  gold 
-hould  know  not  only  the  secret  of  love's  caprice,  but 
the  essence  of  the  Divine  Fatherhood. 

"  Flower  in  the  crannied  wall, 
I  phuk  you  out  of  the  crannies;— 
Hold  you  here,  root  and  all,  in  my  hand, 
It  tiower, — but  if  I  could  understand 
What  you  are,  root  and  all,  and  all  in  all, 
I  should  know  what  God  and  man  is." 

Human  knowledge  cannot  reach  the  essence  of  things. 
We  cannot  know  our  dearest  friend  only  a  few  manifeeta- 

is  of  him.  The  ulterior  essence  that  makes  all  things  a 
unit,  we  can  never  know.  We  are  like  insects  viewing  the 
motions  of  a  machine.  To  them  each  wheel  moves  independ- 
ently and  from  its  own  caprice.  So  we  regard  each  move- 
ment in  the  universe  as  separate  and  independent.  The 
belts  and  bars  and  gears  by  which  each  and  every  move- 

it  is  linked  with  every  other,  lie  beyond  the  horizon  of 
our  vision.  If  we  could  but  discern  the  inter-relations  of 
tilings,  we  might  learn  that  the  grandest  event  in  human 

ory  is  linked  in  sequential  relation  with  the  flutter  of 
an  insect's  wing,  and  that  the  annihilation  of  an  atom  and 
a  star  would  be  equal  catastrophes.  Perchance  we  might 
see,  in  the  ineffable  light  of  that   awful  vision,  how  po- 


SORRO  W  AND  ITS  MEANING.  363 

tential  joys  unspeakable  have  been  born  in  darkened  cham- 
bers; how  every  wreathed  casket  bears  a  universal  min- 
istry, and  that, 

"  The  brightest  rainbows  ever  play 
Above  the  fountains  of  our  tears." 

But  sorrow  has  a  more  obvious  ministry  than  that  which 
is  discerned  only  by  such  generalization.  If,  then,  sorrow 
is  a  natural  agency;  that  is,  if  we  have  been  made  capable 
of  sorrow,  and  then  placed  in  a  world  of  danger  and  disas- 
ter where  the  causes  of  sorrow  cannot  be  anticipated, 
surely  this  sorrow  and  affliction  must  have  an  individual 
ministry  commensurate  with  its  cost,  or  the  wisdom  of  Him 
who  ordained  it  is  implicated.  We  may  rest  assured  that 
sorrow  serves  some  purpose  in  the  economy  of  being,  as 
definite  as  that  of  magnetism  and  light.  We  cannot  reach 
the  secret  of  its  deepest  meaning,  and  yet  there  seems 
to  be  within  us  a  spiritual  instinct  that  seeks  to  justify  its 
existence  and  to  find  in  it  a  ministry. 

"  The  gods  in  bounty  work  up  storms  about  us, 
That  give  mankind  occasion  to  exert 
Their  hidden  strength,  and  throw  out  into  practice 
Virtues  that  shun  the  day,  and  lie  concealed 
In  the  smooth  seasons  and  calms  of  life." 

Pain  and  sorrow  are  wasting  processes  of  the  soul,  just 
as  labor  is  a  wasting  process  of  the  muscles.  But  who 
does  not  know  that  this  very  waste  is  the  only  condition 
under  which  a  muscle  can  grow  strong  ?  If  you  wish  to 
strengthen  any  muscle,  the  first  thing  to  do  is  to  weary 


364  OUR  HO  Mi:. 

that  muscle  by  labor.  A  muscle  grows  strong  only  in  the 
process  of  recuperation,  the  act  of  recovering  a  loss.  It  is 
a  universal  law  of  nature  that  every  loss  is  just  a  little 
more  than  repaid. 

Now  sorrow  is  the  labor  of  the  spirit.  It  is  the  instinct- 
struggle  of  the  spirit  against  the  effects  of  maladjust- 
ment, and  sustains  to  it  precisely  the  same  relation  that 
physical  labor  sustains  to  the  muscle.  Every  adult  soul 
that  has  never  known  a  pang  of  sorrow  has  long  since 
>ed  to  grow. 

It  is  true  that  the  soul  does  not  require  pain  with  that 
degree  of  regularity  with  which  the  muscles  require  labor, 
but  it  is  simply  because,  through  memory  and  reflection, 
the  influence  is  distributed.  A  single  great  stroke  of  sor- 
row will  often  soften,  subdue,  and  ripen  a  whole  life,  for, 
since  it  is  lived  over  and  over  again  in  the  silent  solitude 
of  thought,  it  becomes  life-long  in  its  ministry.  Who  has 
not  read  this  sacred  ministry  of  sorrow  on  those  brows  of 
>aintly  triumph, — the  thrones  of  peace? 

We  have  not  yet,  it  is  true,  caught  the  divine  secret  of 
how  justice  is  maintained  in  the  unequal  distribution  of 
human  suffering. 

We  must,  at  once,  and  forever,  abandon  the  idea  that  it 
<in  be  found  along  the  narrow  line  of  individual  merit. 
The  world  has  sought  it  there  long  and  diligently,  and 
found  it  not. 

One  student  is  compelled  by  his  instructors  to  practice 


SORRO  W  AND  ITS  MEANING.  365 

more  hours  a  day  in  a  gymnasium  than  another.  The 
practice  is  irksome,  and  the  other  is  allowed  to  sit  with 
folded  arms  in  smiling  complacency,  while  his  companion 
toils  at  the  rope  and  bar.  To  this  young  toiler  there 
could  be  nothing  more  unjust,  for,  like  most  students,  he 
does  not  look  forward  to  the  effects  of  the  discipline  to 
which  he  is  subjected.  And  yet  in  the  future  years  his 
proud  physique  and  glow  of  health  beside  his  friend's 
puny  form  and  pale  cheek,  may  prove  that  the  injustice 
was  on  the  other  side.  There  may  not,  however,  be  in- 
justice in  either  case. 

Perhaps  the  gymnasium  is  not  the  treatment  best 
adapted  to  the  weak  student.  Perhaps  his  constitution  is 
such  that  he  is  incapable  of  developing  a  strong  physique, 
and,  perhaps,  he  could  more  surely  reach  the  height  of  his 
physical  capacity  through  the  ministry  of  some  gentler  ex- 
ercise. It  is  wisest  to  allow  the  physician  under  whose 
superintendence  he  is  placed  to  decide  these  questions. 
Perhaps,  again,  these  physicians  may  see  in  the  stronger 
student  the  germs  of  a  possible  ministry,  whose  fruition 
will  require  the  fullest  development  of  all  his  physical 
powers.  It  may  be  that  the  forces  of  creation  have  con- 
spired to  make  him  by  nature  a  performer  of  great  physical 
deeds,  a  builder  of  bridges,  and  a  leveler  of  mountains. 
One,  at  sight  of  whose  mighty  achievements,  his  fellows 
will  bow  in  the  willing  acknowledgment  of  conscious  in- 
feriority.     All    these    conditions   and   qualifications   may 


366  OUR  HOME. 

have  been  discovered  by  those  having  charge  of  the  two 
stud. 

Now  let  us  suppose  the  students  actually  incapable  of 
perceiving  the  reason  for  the  difference  in  treatment  to 
which  they  have  been  subjected.  They  cannot  understand 
that  the  purpose  which  nature  intended  them  to  serve  in 
the  economy  of  being  has  any  relation  whatever  to  this 
problem  of  justice  which  they  are  trying  to  solve. 

Does  not  this  illustration  cover  all  phases  of  the  great 
problem  of  human  sorrow?  Are  we  not  all  in  a  vast  gym- 
nasium, under  the  superintendence  of  one  who  not  only  is 
the  architect  of  the  gymnasium,  but  who  has  adapted  its 
every  appliance  to  the  requirements  of  our  Spiritual  mus- 
cles? Every  obstacle  to  our  spiritual  progress,  every 
temptation,  even  pang  of  sorrow,  is  a  weight  or  a  cross- 
bar in  that  great  gymnasium,  and  we  in  our  iniinitesimal 
knowledge  and  prescience  can  weigh  only  the  justice  or 
injustice  of  apparent  discrimination.  We  murmur  as  we 
bend  beneath  the  weight  of  grief,  and  bitterly  complain  as 
we  are  made  to  revolve  in  agonizing  contortions  around 
the  cross-bar  of  adversity.  Yet  could  our  eyes  be  tem- 
pered to  the  light  of  an  universal  sun,  and  we  permitted 
to  pierce  the  starry  vistas  of  infinite  meaning,  with  one 
glance  through  the  lens  of  infinite  intelligence,  beneath 
the  burning  focus  of  that  lens  how  would  the  nebulous 
haze  burn  from  off  the  shining  disk  of  this  great  problem, 
ice. 


SORRO  W  AND  ITS  MEANING.  367 

Perhaps  the  divinest  ministry  of  bereavement  and  sorrow 
is  seen  in  the  lofty  moods  that  grow  out  of  it,  and  that  lift 
the  soul  above  the  reach  of  its  own  discipline ;  till  it  can 
stand  with  face  wreathed  in  the  smile  of  peace,  subdued 
and  tender  and  god-like,  while  with  never  a  sigh  it  beholds 
the  waves  of  desolation  sweep  over  its  fondest  hopes.  Thou- 
sands of  souls  have  been  educated  in  sorrow's  school  till 
they  were  able  to  do  this.  Almost  every  one  has  experi- 
enced certain  exalted  moods  in  which  he  has  felt  himself 
above  and  beyond  the  reach  of  all  outward  conditions;  and 
clinging  to  the  one  fact  of  his  existence  and  its  inward  re- 
lations, he  has  felt  that  he  could  smile  at  every  possible 
catastrophe.  •  It  is  sorrow  alone  that  gives  us  the  capacity 
for  this  the  divinest  of  moods.  How  weak  and  useless  are 
those  "  pulpy  souls  M  that  never  have  known  affliction !  Such 
are  the  ones  that  cover  their  faces  and  flee  from  the  scene 
of  suffering.  They  are  the  feeble  characters  that  tremble 
and  fall  when  shaken  by  great  emergencies.  But  who  are 
they  that  stand  calmly  and  firmly  against  the  fiercest  charge 
of  calumny.  It  is  they  who  know  the  meaning  of  midnight 
watching  and  buried  hope.  It  is  they  who  have  put  the 
cup  of  sorrow  to  their  lips  and  held  it  there  till  they  have 
drained  the  bitter  dregs. 

"  The  grape  must  be  crushed  before 
Can  be  gathered  the  glorious  wine ; 
So  the  poet's  heart  must  be  wrung  to  the  core 
Ere  his  song  can  be  divine." 

We  cannot  doubt  that  every  pang,  every  disappointment, 


368  OUR  HOME. 

every  blinding  stroke  of  grief,  holds  in  potentiality,  a  bless- 
ing that  in  some  way  follows  a  law  analogous  to  that  phys- 
ical law  of  recuperation  by  which  wasting,  wearying  toil 
ministers  to  muscular  strength.  The  blessing  may  not 
always  be  immediate  and  visible,  it  may  not,  indeed,  always 
be  to  our  own  seliish  selves,  but  somewhere  in  eternity  to 
the  sum  of  all  being.  It  would  be  impious  to  attempt  to 
trace  its  divinely  appointed  course.  It  may  require  eternity 
to  solve  the  problem  of  a  blighted  hope.  We  are  silent 
when  they  ask  us  to  point  out  the  hidden  blessing  in  war's 
dread  scourge;  or  when  the  scorpion  lash  of  pestilence 
smites  the  back  of  dying  Memphis ;  or  when  the  brilliant 
foot-lights  with  fiery  fingers  have  caressed  the  oily  scenery 
and  the  public  hall  becomes  a  tomb  for  charred  and  un- 
known corpses.  We  are  staggered  by  the  awful  mystery 
when  the  light-hearted  girl  steps  from  out  the  merry  throng, 
and  reappears  in  sable  drapery  with  a  story  on  her  brow.  It 
requires  a  quick  ear  to  catch  the  secret  from  the  frozen  lips 
of  death,  when  the  fair  youth  who  but  yesterday  plucked 
the  wild  roses  to  twine  in  golden  hair,  comes  to-day  to 
those  same  woodland  haunts  to  gather  roses  for  love's 
speechless  tribute,  that  he  may  lay  them  on  the  pulseless 
bosom  of  the  maiden  he  adores. 

But  notwithstanding  all  this,  we  cannot  resist  the  con- 
viction, which  comes  to  us  with  the  force  of  an  instinct, 
that  sorrow  is  a  natural  phenomenon  and  bears  the  en- 
dorsement of  the  Divine  hand.     How  else  can  we  explain 


SORRO  W  AND  ITS  MEANING.  369 

the  philosophy  of  that  instinctive  acquiescence  in  the 
inevitable,  of  which  we  have  spoken  in  the  preceding 
chapter  ?  Why,  when  the  shadow  of  the  angel's  wing  falls 
on  the  face  of  one  we  love,  do  we  almost  instinctively  turn 
to  the  physician  to  learn  if  no  power  could  have  saved  ? 
and  why  that  sigh  of  relief  when  he  assures  us  that  the 
result  could  not  have  been  otherwise.  The  inevitableness 
of  a  friend's  death  will  partially  reconcile  us  to  our  be- 
reavement. When  one  knows  that  he  must  die,  he  is  usually 
calm  and  resigned,  but  he  is  wild  while  there  is  hope.  Why 
is  this?  Why  does  utter  despair  always  gives  birth  to 
calmness  and  resignation?  Is  it  not  a  hint  from  the  infalli- 
ble book  of  human  instinct,  that  whatever  may  be  true  of 
moral  accountability  and  free  agency,  it  is  not  inconsistent 
with  a  higher  and  grander. truth  that,  in  the  infinite  alti- 
tude of  divine  meaning,  "Whatever  is,  is  right?"  We 
cannot  see  the  purpose  that  is  subserved  in  the  universal 
economy  by  the  poisonous  plant,  by  thorn  and  sting,  and 
deadly  fang,  yet  the  highest  philosophy  assigns  to  them  a 
consistent  meaning,  even  while  it  acknowledges  that  mean- 
ing to  be  above  and  beyond  the  proudest  effort  of  human 
analysis.  I  cannot  say  that  I  ought  not  to  suffer,  till  I  am 
able  to  analyze  every  relation  of  my  being.  This  I  can 
never  do.  I  cannot  find  in  the  great  machine  a  single 
gearing  by  which  one  wheel  is  connected  with  another. 

"  Yet  I  doubt  not  through  the  ages  one  increasing  purpose  runs, 
And  the  thoughts  of  men  are  widened  with  the  process  of  the  suns." 


370  OUR  HOME. 

Is  it  not  possible,  nay,  probable,  that  the  same  great 
principle  in  the  universe  which  creates  the  deadly  night- 
shade, and  arms  the  insect  with  a  fatal  gland,  also  arms 
even  ignorance  with  that  which  slays  the  objects  of  our 
fondest  love  ? 

The  mother  who  bends  over  a  little  casket  to  leave  her 
triune  gift  of  roses,  tears,  and  kisses,  upon  lips  that  never 
more  will  lisp  her  name,  may  yet  perceive,  in  the  light  of  a 
higher  revelation,  that  though  the  rose-wreathed  casket 
bears  the  ashes  of  her  cherished  hopes,  it  is  also  ministrant 
to  a  need  she  knows  not  of. 

Who  knows  of  this  inward  life  of  ours  ? 

Of  the  pangs  with  which  each  joy  is  born  ? 
Who  dreams  of  poison  among  the  flowers, 

Or  sees  the  wound  from  the  hidden  thorn, 

O'er  which  we  smile  when  most  forlorn  ? 

Who  knows  that  the  change  from  grave  to  gay 

Was  wrought  by  the  deadly  pain  we  bore, 
As  we  lay  the  hopes  of  years  away, 

Like  withered  roses,  to  bloom  no  more 

Upon  life's  desolated  shore  ? 

Who  knows,  as  we  tread  these  careless  ways, 
That  we  think  of  our  sainted  dead  the  while, 

That  the  heart  grows  sick,  in  summer  days, 
For  a  blessed  mother's  tender  smile, 
That  held  no  taint  of  worldly  guile  ? 

Who  knows  of  the  tremulous  chords  of  love, 

To  the  lightest  touch  that  vibrate  still, 
As  under  her  wing  the  stricken  dove, 

Unmurmuring  folds — although  it  kill — 

The  cruel  mark  of  the  archer's  skill  ? 


THE  WIDOW'S  HOME. 


WORK  treating  of  home  and  the  various 
1  liases  of  the  home-life,  could  not  be  con- 
side  red  complete,  were  no  chapter  de- 
voted to  the  widow's  home.  For  the 
widow's  home  finds  its  justification  in  the 
normal  and  primitive  constitution  of 
things,  as  proved  by  the  undisputed  facts 
that  marriage  is  an  institution  of  nature, 
and  that  no  organic  law  demands  the 
simultaneous  dissolution  of  husband  and 
wife.  Indeed,  such  a  coincidence  is  of  re- 
markably rare  occurrence. 

Widowhood,  then,  is  an  ordinance  of 
nature,  and  perhaps  the  strongest  evi- 
dence that  sorrow  holds  a  rightful  place 
in  the  universal  economy  is  to  be  found 
in  this  fact. 

If,  then,  widowhood  is  inevitable,  it 
seems  right  that  provision  should  be 
made  for  its  possible  occurrence,  at  least,  in  so  far  as 
occasional  and  wholesome    contemplation    can   so    dispose 


OUR  HOME. 

our  minds  that  the  dark  angel  cannot  come  to  us  or 
ours  by  absolute  surprise.  We  do  not  mean  by  this 
that  husbands  and  wives  should  perpetually  dwell  upon 
tin*  possible  catastrophe  of  each  other's  death.  This 
would  be  entirely  unnatural.  Indeed,  nothing  so  surely 
indicates  a  morbid  condition  of  the  whole  being  as  a  con- 
stant tendency  to  dwell  upon  the  possible  death  of  our- 
selves or  our  friends.  It  indicates  a  disordered  state  of 
the  nerves  to  be  unable  to  sleep  in  consequence  of  a  con- 
stant dread  of  fire.  And  yet  it  is  surely  the  duty  of  all  to 
make  due  provisions  for  such  a  catastrophe  by  way  of  fire- 
escapes.  So  while  we  should  not  allow  ourselves  to  be  in 
constant  dread  of  bereavement,  we  should  in  our  thought 
and  meditation  frequently  acknowledge  to  ourselves  the 
possibility  of  such  an  event,  with  an  effort  to  realize  that 
which  we  acknowledge.  In  this  way  we  may  prepare  our- 
selves for  almost  any  affliction,  so  that  when  the  alarm 
comes  we  may  not  be  suffocated  and  bewildered  in  the 
blinding  smoke  of  our  own  grief. 

But  the  liabilities  to  widowhood  impose  the  duty  of  a 
more  substantial  provision.  This  affliction  falls  most  heavily 
upon  her  who  has  leaned  with  the  most  childlike  dependence 
upon  the  support  of  her  husband.  It  is,  perhaps,  natural 
for  woman  to  look  to  her  husband  for  support  and  protec- 
tion, but  that  complete  surrender  of  her  individuality  which 
makes  her  a  mere  household  pet,  is  to  be  condemned,  not 
only  as  unnatural,  but  as  a  sin  against  herself  and  society. 


THE  WIDOW'S  HOME.  373 

Those  who  wear  the  badge  of  widowhood  with  the  most 
heroic  fortitude  are  those  who,  in  the  stern  battle  of  life, 
have  stood  abreast  with  their  husbands,  who  have  never 
shirked  the  awful  responsibility  of  womanhood,  wifehood, 
and  motherhood.  When  the  fearful  summons  came  that 
left  them  to  fight  alone,  it  found  them  with  weapon  in 
hand.  And  it  was  then  that  the  glory  and  majesty  of  their 
womanhood  shone  through  a  veil  of  tears  with  a  beauty 
that  was  divine.  It  is  not  the  bereavement  alone  that 
lends  sadness  to  the  thoughts  of  widowhood,  but  it  is  the 
fact  of  added  responsibility.  There  are  often  young  chil- 
dren dependent  upon  their  sorrowing  mother,  and  no  mat- 
ter how  nobly  that  mother  may  have  performed  her  part 
in  the  conflict  of  life,  in  the  present  conditions  of  society 
there  are  few  in  whose  homes  would  not  be  felt  the  sudden 
interruption  and  suspension  of  the  husband's  business, 
though  it  were  preceded  by  years  of  industry  and  economy. 

It  requires  something  of  a  fortune,  at  least  more  than 
most  men  possess,  in  order  that  the  interest  alone  may  be 
sufficient  to  maintain  the  home,  and  to  feed,  clothe  and 
educate  a  family  of  children  ;  so  that  some  form  of  re- 
munerative labor  often  becomes  necessary  even  for  the 
mother.  And  this  adds  to  the  sadness  of  the  scene,  for  if 
there  is  a  scene  on  earth  that  is  sad,  it  is  that  of  grief 
struggling  in  the  toils  of  want. 

But  we  would  not  be  understood  to  mean  that  the 
widow's  home  is  always  and  necessarily  the  scene  of  want, 


874  OUR  HOME, 

for  it  is  not  always,  by  any  means,  that  there  is  a  family  of 
young  children  dependent  on  the  mother's  efforts  for  the 
supply  of  all  their  varied  needs.  It  is,  perhaps,  as  often 
that  the  children  are  able  to  support  themselves  and  their 
mother.  Nor  is  the  widow's  home  ever  the  abode  of  un- 
mitigated sorrow.  We  cannot,  it  is  true,  from  the  very 
nature  of  the  case,  eliminate  sorrow  from  the  widow's 
home,  yet  God  has  so  constituted  the  human  heart  that 
even  amid  the  darkest  scenes  of  sorrow  and  affliction  there 
come  to  it  hours  of  mirth  and  joy.  And,  perhaps,  the 
widow's  home,  where  the  necessary  conditions  of  love  and 
confidence  exist,  is  not  less  potent  in  its  formative  influ- 
ences upon  character,  than  those  homes  where  sorrow  has 
never  come.  There  is  something  beautiful  as  well  as  pa- 
ne in  the  family  scene  where  loving  children  recognize 
mother  as  the  head.  The  sons  and  daughters  who  come 
from  families  of  this  kind  are  usually  noble  and  generous. 
They  have  learned  to  be  unselfish  not  only  from  the  heroic 
discipline  of  their  own  lot,  but  from  the  tireless  example 
of  a  mother's  denial  and  m  It  -sacrifice,  qualities  which  be- 
long emphatically  to  the  widowed  mother. 

The  angelic  qualities  of  a  mother's  love  never  fully  re- 
veal themselves  till  the  wand  of  sorrow  touches  her  heart 
and  writes  a  story  on  her  brow. 

"  Arise  and  all  thy  tasks  fulfill, 

And  as  thy  day  thy  strength  shall  be; 
Were  there  no  power  beyond  the  ill, 
The  ill  could  not  have  come  to  thee. 


THE  WIDO  W'S  HOME. 


375 


"  Though  cloud  and  storm  encompass  thee 
Be  not  afflicted  nor  afraid ; 
Thou  knowest  the  shadow  could  not  be 
Were  there  no  sun  beyond  the  shade. 

"  For  thy  beloved,  dead  and  gone, 

Let  sweet,  not  bitter,  tears  be  shed; 
Nor  '  open  thy  dark  saying  on 
The  harp,'  as  though  thy  faith  were  dead." 


HOMELESS  ORPHANS. 


TREATISE  upon  the  home  life  would  be  in- 
complete without,  at  least,  some  mention  of 
the  homeless.  We  cannot  exhaustively  con- 
sider any  fact  without  also  considering  its 
negative. 

The  word  orphan  is  one  of  the  saddest  in 
human  language.  It  is  a  word  at  sound  of 
which  the  gayest  hearts  are  sad.  It  brings 
to  our  minds  a  lone  wanderer  who  finds  no 
object  on  earth  to  evoke  a  smile.  When  the 
child  that  has  a  happy  home  and  loving  parents  imagines 
himself  deprived  of  them,  he  experiences  an  oppressive 
feeling  that  may  be  likened  to  that  of  suffocation.  It  is 
probable,  however,  that  the  actual  suffering  of  the  home- 
less is  far  less  than  one  would  naturally  suppose,  for  that 
principle  in  us  which  tends  to  makes  us  satisfied  with  the 
inevitable  doubtless  asserts  itself  here. 

When  we  look  upon  the  cripple  who  is  obliged  to  sub- 
stitute a  wooden  crutch  for  a  leg,  our  hearts  are  moved  to 
pity,  and  we  feel  that  in  some  way  we  owe  him  something. 
We  cannot  feel  at  ease  when  we  look  upon  him,  while  we 


HOMELESS  ORPHANS.  377 

ourselves  enjoy  the  free  use  of  our  limbs.  But  the  cripple 
himself  has  no  such  feelings.  He  feels  that  the  wooden 
crutch  is  his  other  leg,  and  he  in  turn  pities  his  unfor- 
tunate neighbor  who  has  lost  both  limbs.  And  so  it  is 
with  life.  He  who  dwells  in  a  palace  pities  him  who 
dwells  in  a  cottage,  and  he  in  turn  pities  him  who  dwells 
in  a  hovel.  In  the  working  of  this  principle  may  be  dis- 
cerned that  law  of  compensation  which  underlies  all  hu- 
man affairs. 

But  this  fact  does  not  justify  selfishness  nor  allow  us  to 
neglect  the  rights  of  the  unfortunate.  For  in  spite  of  all 
compensatory  tendencies  the  world  is  full  of  suffering.  The 
air  is  rent  at  noonday  and  at  midnight  with  the  wails  of 
sorrow  and  the  shrieks  of  agony.  What  if  every  wave  of 
sound  around  the  earth  could  reach  our  ears  !  Think  how 
the  stifled  sob  of  sudden  sorrow  would  blend  with  the  mu- 
sic where  beauty  moves  to  the  pulses  of  the  viol,  and  where 
in  the  great  orchestral  movement  of  human  life  could  be 
found  a  place  for  the  weird,  discordant  note  of  orphaned 
anguish.  How  the  thunderous  discords  of  that  mighty  or- 
chestra are  reduced  to  harmony  by  the  dullness  of  our  ears ! 

Pity  is  an  element  of  human  nature  that,  in  many  re- 
spects must  be  considered  as  distinct  from  the  disposition 
to  help.  It  is  true  that  they  both  originate  in  the  primi- 
tive faculty  of  benevolence,  but  this  faculty  seems  to  have 
these  two  closely  related  functions.  The  feverish  and  ex- 
travagant desire  for  wealth  that  the  indolent  pauper  expe- 


378  OUR  HOME. 

riences  originates  in  the  same  faculty  as  the  thrift  and  hon- 
est effort  of  the  industrious  man,  and  yet  these  two  products 
are  not  equally  meritorious.  Pity  in  its  ultimate  analysis 
is  doubtless  selfish.  It  is  the  pain  that  we  experience  on 
witnessing  pain  in  others.  Of  course  its  chief  tendency  is 
in  the  direction  of  help,  just  as  any  pain  leads  ns  to  remove 
the  cause.  Hut  in  the  case  of  pity,  the  tendency  does  not 
always  produce  this  result.  Indeed,  it  often  produces  an 
opposite  result,  as  when  a  lady  through  excess  of  pity  flies 
from  the  scene  of  suffering.  After  the  close  of  a  certain 
battle,  Florence  Nightingale  was  called  upon  to  witness 
the  most  terrible  suffering  in  the  hospitals,  and  to  yield 
her  tender  ministrations  to  the  shrieking  and  the  dying* 
She  had  under  her  charge  several  jToung  ladies  as  assist- 
ants. As  they  approached  the  couch  of  one  mortally 
wounded,  torn  and  mangled  and  writhing  in  the  awful 
throes  of  the  death  agony,  these  young  ladies  covered 
their  faces  and  fled  from  the  place.  The  noble  woman 
with  a  majesty  almost  divine,  with  no  agitation,  no  weak- 
ening tears  of  pity,  turned  and  rebuked  them,  and  com- 
manded them  to  return.  Who  of  those  ladies,  think  you, 
possessed  most  of  that  god-like  love  that  dares  to  do  and 
die  for  others?  This  act  on  the  part  of  the  young  ladies, 
however,  was  not  a  selfish  one  in  the  popular  sense  of  the 
word.  They  desired  to  aid  the  sufferers,  they  were  there 
for  that  purpose.  They  were  noble  and  generous,  but 
y  eould  not  match  the  great  soul  of  Florence  Nightin- 


HOMELESS  ORPHANS.  379 

gale,  and  in  their  comparative  weakness  they  gave  way  to 
pity.  Neither  was  Florence  Nightingale  destitute  of  the 
power  to  pity ;  she  was  capable  of  deeper  pity  and  more 
copious  tears  of  sympathy  than  her  assistants,  but  she 
crushed  down  her  selfish  pity,  in  order  to  give  free  scope 
to  the  grander  sentiment  of  help.  She  knew  that  pity's 
tears  could  not  heal  those  awful,  gaping  wounds,  and  that 
the  hour  demanded  a  higher  ministration  than  tender  words 
of  sympathy. 

But  not  alone  in  such  an  hour  does  the  grandeur  of  hu- 
man love  display  itself.  The  principle  of  benevolence  is 
represented  by  two  classes,  the  pi  tiers  and  the  helpers. 
The  pitiers  are  represented  by  the  sentimentalists,  who 
speak  in  touching  generalities  about  the  sufferings  of  hu- 
manity ;  the  helpers,  by  the  asylums  and  homes,  the  public 
and  private  charities  of  the  land.  One  class  is  represented 
by  words  and  tears,  the  other  by  the  wordless  energy  that 
feeds,  clothes  and  protects.  One  orphans'  asylum  is  worth 
more  than  all  the  tears  of  pity  ever  shed.  The  grandest 
ministration  is  that  which  gives  with  a  heart  too  noble  to 
express  its  own  pain.  The  divinest  love  is  that  which 
builds  its  own  monument,  of  brick  and  mortar,  with  dry 
eyes  and  lion  heart. 

But  how  shall  the  homeless  orphan  profit  by  what  we 
have  said  on  the  subject  of  home  and  its  advantages? 
Surely,  if  he  have  no  home,  there  can  be  no  relations 
between   himself    and    that    institution   except    negative 


880  OUR  HOME. 

relations.  The  first  thing  to  do,  then,  is  to  seek  some 
place  where  he  can  eat  and  sleep,  and  this  place  he  should 
call  home,  even  though  it  have  no  other  characteristic  of 
home  than  that  it  affords  him  a  secluded  place  in  which  to 
eat  his  crust,  and  a  protection  from  the  dew  and  rain  at 
night.  He  should  never  change  his  quarters  unless  he 
can  change  them  for  the  better.  This  rule  should  be  ob- 
served as  far  as  circumstances  will  permit.  Perhaps  the 
poor  reader  into  whose  hands  this  book  may  chance  to  fall 
may  not  understand  the  force  of  this  advice.  But  when 
he  subjects  it  to  the  light  even  of  that  rude  philosophy  of 
life  which  he  has  developed  upon  the  street,  we  trust  it 
will  appear  plain  to  him.  He  should  call  the  place  where 
lie  eats  and  sleeps  home,  in  order  that  his  heart  may  not 
lose  that  sacred  word  from  its  vocabulary.  He  should  per- 
sist in  eating  his  meals  and  spending  his  nights  in  this  one 
place,  in  order  that  he  may  not  lose  that  divinely  born 
home  instinct  in  which  the  institution  of  home  has  origi- 
nated. If  you  are  a  bootblack  upon  the  street,  with  no 
parents  and  no  home  that  you  can  call  your  own,  you  must 
surely  have  some  place  in  which  you  sleep  at  night.  This 
you  can  call  home,  and  it  will  soon  come  to  be  in  some  sense 
a  home  to  you.  And  if,  by  blacking  boots,  you  can  earn  a 
living,  you  can  without  doubt  earn  a  little  besides,  and  with 
the  saved  nickels  and  dimes,  that  nobody  supposes  you 
possess,  you  can  buy  good  clothes,  and  thus  appear  to  bet- 
ter advantage  on  the  street  and  in  that  society  in  which 


HOMELESS  ORPHANS.  381 

you  move.  In  this  world  of  unjust  discriminations,  fine 
vestments  are  often  mistaken  for  hearts,  while  real  hearts 
wrapt  up  in  rags  are  often  carelessly  thrown  away.  So  if 
you  have  a  good  heart  it  is  well  to  wrap  it  in  as  fine  a 
piece  of  cloth  as  you  can  afford. 

There  are  few  orphan  boys  or  girls  who  cannot  obtain 
good  situations,  either  in  the  city  or  in  the  country,  where 
they  may  be  clothed  and  fed,  and  be  allowed  to  attend 
school,  and  to  pay  for  such  guardianship  with  moderate 
labor,  in  the  same  condition  as  the  children  of  the  house- 
hold. 

It  is  no  disgrace  to  be  sent  to  an  "  orphans'  home."  Of 
course  such  a  home  cannot  be  a  perfect  home,  for  it  lacks 
the  elements  of  "  the  fireside  "  and  parental  love.  But  it 
has  enough  of  the  essential  elements  to  entitle  it  to  the 
name  of  home.  If  the  semi-public  life  which  is  inevitable 
is  displeasing  to  the  unfortunate  one,  let  him  remember 
that  in  all  institutions  of  the  kind  the  merits  and  demerits 
of  the  inmates  are  considered,  and  those  who  have  proved 
themselves  most  worthy  are  the  first  who  are  permitted  to 
avail  themselves  of  the  situations  in  private  families  that 
are  constantly  presenting  themselves.  Officers  are  em- 
ployed expressly  to  search  out  such  situations.  And  an 
orphans'  home  may  be  regarded  as  a  kind  of  temporary  ac- 
commodation where  orphans  are  provided  for  until  their 
applications  for  situations  are  successful.  We  believe  that 
the  active,  benevolent  element  of  society,  if  properly  re- 


382  OUR  HOME. 

minded  of  its  duty,  is  capable  of  absorbing  the  entire  ele- 
ment of  the  world's  orphaned  ones. 

"  Only  a  newsboy,  under  the  light 

Of  the  lamp-post,  plying  his  trade  in  vain: 
Men  are  too  busy  to  stop  to-night, 

Hurrying  home  through  the  sleet  and  rain. 
Never  since  dark  a  paper  sold ; 

"Where  shall  he  sleep,  or  how  be  fed  ? 
He  thinks,  as  he  shivers  there  in  the  cold, 

While  happy  children  are  safe  abed. 

"  Is  it  strange  if  he  turns  about 

With  angry  words,  then  comes  to  blows, 
When  his  little  neighbor,  just  sold  out, 

Tossing  his  pennies,  past  him  goes  ? 
1  Stop! ' — some  one  looks  at  him,  sweet  and  mild, 

And  the  voice  that  speaks  is  a  tender  one: 
•  You  should  not  strike  such  a  little  child, 

And  you  should  not  use  such  words,  my  son! ' 

11  Is  it  his  anger  or  his  fear* 

That  have  hushed  his  voice  and  stopped  his  arm? 
'Don't  tremble,'  these  are  the  words  he  hears; 

*  Do  you  think  that  I  would  do  you  harm  ?  ' 
'  It  isn't  that,'  and  the  band  drops  down; 

' 1  wouldn't  care  for  kicks  and  blows; 
But  nobody  ever  called  me  son, 

Because  I'm  nobody's  child,  I  s'pose.' 

"  O  men!  as  ye  careless  pass  along, 

Remember  the  love  that  has  cared  for  you; 
And  blush  for  the  awful  shame  and  wrong 

Of  a  world  where  such  a  thing  could  be  true! 
Think  what  the  child  at  your  knee  had  been 

If  thus  on  life's  lonely  billows  tossed; 
And  who  shall  bear  the  weight  of  the  sin, 

If  one  of  these  '  little  ones  '  be  lost!  " 


HOMES  OF  THE  POOR. 


.A. 


ISTORY  records  no  great  reforms,  no  rare 
efforts  of  philanthropy  and  love,  whose  actors 
have  not  felt  the  restraint  of  at  least  moderate 
want.  Out  from  the  ten  thousand  unpainted 
cottages  that  dot  the  land  have  stalked  forth 
the  great  thoughts  and  the  mighty  deeds. 

Luxury  is  the  concave  lens  which  disperses 
the  rays  of  human  energy,  while  poverty  is 
the  convex  lens  which  causes  them  to  converge,  often 
bringing  them  to  a  powerful  focus,  and  like  the  mirrors  of 
Archimedes  burning  the  fleets  of  the  enemy. 

Let  no  young  man  despair  because  he  is  poor.  As  well 
might  the  engine  despair  because  the  iron  bands  confine 
the  restless  energy  of  the  steam.  The  engineer  computes 
the  resistance  to  physical  force  in  what  he  terms  foot- 
pounds. So  poverty  is  a  term  that  simply  designates  the 
resistance  to  the  divine  energies  of  a  human  soul.  There 
are  two  indispensable  conditions  to  the  development  of 
power  in  the  engine ;  first  the  application  of  heat,  and 
second  the  outward  resistance  to  confine  the  force  gener- 
ated.    So  in  the  soul  these  same  two  conditions  must  exist ; 


884  our  home. 

\\w   heat   of  a  penrisi ent   volition,  of  a  dauntless  purpose, 
1 1 1 1 1  plied,  and  alao    the   outward  resistance  of  cir- 

cumstances  to   confine   and   concentrate  the  power   thus 
ed. 

The  gigantic  power  of  the  engine  is  obtained  by  confin- 
ing those  restless  particles  of  steam  which  are  struggling 
for  release,  and  which,  if  they  do  not  soon  obtain  it,  will 
burst  their  iron  bands  asunder. 

How  impotent  is  the  most  terrific  heat  if  the  steam  which 
it  generates  have  no  resistance  to  overcome.  Just  so  with 
the  most  gigantic  volition  and  the  grandest  purpose,  if  they 
are  not  hedged  about  by  some  awful  resistance.  If  they 
have  no  fetters,  either  seen  or  unseen,  in  some  way  pro- 
portionate to  their  own  strength,  they  will  be  dissipated  as 
harmlessly  as  the  vapor  which  rises  at  its  leisure  from  the 
open  boiler. 

By  poverty  we  do  not  mean  the  condition  of  those  who 
moan  with  hunger  and  shiver  with  cold,  but  more  particu- 
larly the  condition  of  that  great  class  whose  desires  and 
needs  are  separated  from  their  gratification  by  the  breadth 
of  a  wearying  effort.  In  this  sense  we  attach  to  the  word 
the  significance  of  a  natural  law,  obviously  designed  and 
ordained  by  the  Creator  to  meet  the  necessary  conditions 
of  human  development. 

If  we  would  trace  the  proudest  achievement  of  human 
genius  to  its  origin,  we  must  follow  it  back  through  wind- 
ing pathways,  from  the  brilliant  hall,  from  the  deafening 


HOMES  OF  THE  POOR.  385 

thunder  of  human  applause,  to  the  silent,  dim-lighted  cot- 
tage of  poverty.  If  the  gratification  of  every  want  lay 
within  the  leisure  grasp  of  that  want,  the  very  atmosphere 
of  human  society  would  become  pestilential  with  stagna- 
tion. Go  to  the  sunny  tropics  where  nature  with  curious 
caprice  empties  her  lap  of  spoils  in  the  presence  of  men, 
and  behold  the  weakness,  the  languor,  and  the  inanity. 
Humanity  there  has  just  activity  enough  to  be  vicious. 
Where  must  we  go  to  hear  the  hum  of  spindles,  to  feel 
beneath  our  feet  the  jar  of  rushing  trains,  and  to  see  the 
smoky  signals  of  human  industry  waving  over  a  thousand 
hills?  We  must  go  where  winter,  the  genius  of  poverty, 
throws  up  his  icy  bulwark  between  the  wants  of  man  and 
their  gratification. 

Force  and  resistance  constitute  the  eternal  polarity  of 
existence.  The  one  cannot  exist  without  the  other,  any 
more  than  there  can  be  boreal  magnetism  without  austral  ; 
any  more  than  there  can  be  action  without  reaction. 

In  order  for  force,  either  physical  or  mental,  to  be  cumu- 
lative the  resistance  must  exceed  the  force  so  as  to  elicit 
the  increase.     Hence  the  mission  of  poverty. 

Not  only  is  poverty  necessary  to  develop  human  nature 
and  make  its  forces  accumulative,  but  it  is  necessary  to 
prevent  the  extravagant  and  irregular  expenditure  of  those 
forces.  It  may  be  that  human  nature  absolutely  perfect 
would  be  self-regulating,  even  when  all  its  desires  could  be 
gratified  without  laborious  effort ;  yet  under  present  condi- 

25 


886  OUR  HOME. 

tions  it  certainly  requires  resistance  in  certain  directions. 
The  son  of  affluence  soon  runs  the  rounds  of  all  possible 
pleasures,  and  then  life  becomes  insipid.  We  enjoy  life's 
blessings  just  in  proportion  to  their  variety  and  the  effort 
that  they  cost.  All  pleasures  are  enhanced  by  preliminary 
effort.  This  fact  explains  the  adage  that  "  stolen  fruit  is 
always  sweetest."  It  is  because  of  the  exciting  effort 
which  accompanies  the  unlawful  procuring  of  it.  That 
fruit,  however,  which  is  bought  with  honest  labor  should 
be  sweetest,  while  the  most  insipid  is  that  which  lies 
within  the  reach  of  the  appetite  without  the  aid  of  labor. 
When  will  men  learn  that  ease  and  rest  and  luxury  are 
misnomers?  It  is  the  subtile  and  divine  alchemy  of 
sweat  which  transforms  sorrow  and  languor  into  joy  and 
peace. 

Homes  of  the  poor !  Sacred  shrines  of  earth  where 
the  altar  fires  of  genius  have  been  lighted.  May  the 
world  forever  be  blessed  with  moderate  want.  The  hu- 
man mind  is  never  whole  till  it  has  suffered,  and  it  is  bet- 
ter that  the  angel  of  poverty  should  mete  out  the  required 
suffci ing  in  the  form  of  a  perpetual  restraint,  than  that  it 
should  burst  like  the  thunder  storm  from  the  azure  sky  of 
luxury,  darkening  with  its  baleful  clouds  the  sun  of  life. 
The  home  of  the  poor  is  the  only  home  in  which  disinter- 
ested love  can  dwell,  for  the  pride  that  inevitably  accom- 
panies wealth  is  in  its  very  nature  selfish,  and  thus  usurps 
a  place  in  the  mind  that  might  be  occupied  by  a  nobler 


HOMES  OF  THE  POOR.  387 

sentiment.  Nearly  all  the  common  interest  there  is  in  the 
rich  family  is  simply  the  pride  that  they  take  in  each 
other's  display,  and  this  feeling  usually  engrosses  most  of 
the  time  and  energy  of  the  rich.  That  pride  which  de- 
lights in  the  family  wardrobe  and  equipage  is  simply  the 
pride  of  the  several  individuals  aggregated,  and  as  such 
pride  is  the  excuse  of  selfishness  it  is,  of  course,  incompat- 
ible with  true  affection ;  and  if  affection  among  the  mem- 
bers of  the  family  cannot  exist  with  this  pride  of  wealth, 
surely  affection  for  mankind  cannot.  This  fact  is  what 
closes  the  doors  of  human  sympathy  against  the  rich  man, 
and  compels  him  to  live  alone  in  his  glory.  Hence  it  is 
that  philanthropic  movements  and  institutions  almost  al- 
ways originate  among  the  poorer  classes. 

The  home  of  the  poor  man  does  not  necessarily  mean 
a  home  of  suffering,  save  in  that  humiliation  and  re- 
straint to  which  it  is  necessary  for  all  souls  to  be  subjected 
in  order  to  develop.  The  poor  man's  home  need  not  be 
devoid  of  a  certain  degree  of  luxury.  Beautiful  pictures 
and  works  of  art  can  no  longer  be  monopolized  by  the 
rich,  for  the  busy  brain  of  invention  has  brought  them 
within  the  reach  of  all.  The  price  of  ten  cents  worth  of 
tobacco  smoke  saved  each  day  for  fifteen  or  twenty  days 
will  purchase  a  fine  book.  The  very  poorest  of  men  find 
no  difficulty  in  purchasing  this  amount  of  tobacco  smoke 
each  day.  Only  think  how  many  days  there  are  in  a  life- 
time.     Three  hundred  and  thirteen   working   days  in  a 


388  OUB  HOME. 

year  at  ten  cents  a  day  would  give  $31.30.  Twenty  years 
would  give  $626.00,  which  would  purchase  at  least  live 
hundred  volumes,  a  library  of  which  most  men  should  be 
proud.  For  five  handled  volumes  of  the  best  books  com- 
prise nearly  all  there  is  of  pre-eminent  worth  in  literature. 
What  an  inspiring  thought  for  a  poor  boy  !  the  gist  of  all 
literature  purchased  with  the  little  self  denial  that  it  costs 
to  refrain  from  making  bacon  of  one's  self. 

Young  man  !  promise  us  that  as  soon  as  you  have  read 
this  chapter,  you  will  begin  to  lay  up  ten  cents  a  day,  and 
if  you  will  smoke  cigars,  then  be  a  little  more  economical 
in  other  things,  and  lay  up  at  least  five  cents.  You  have 
your  life  before  you,  and  it  would  soon  be  so  natural  for 
you  to  lay  by  the  small  amount  daily,  that  you  would 
drop  it  from  habit  into  your  private  treasury  almost  un- 
consciously.    Try  it,  and  reap  the  harvest. 

"  He  sat  all  alone  in  bis  dark  little  room, 
His  fingers  aweary  with  work  at  the  loom, 
His  eyes  seeing  not  the  fine  threads,  for  the  tears, 
As  he  carefully  counted  the  months  and  the  years 
He  had  been  a  poor  weaver. 

"  Not  a  traveler  went  on  the  dusty  highway, 
But  he  thought,  ■  He  has  nothing  to  do  but  be  gay; ' 
No  matter  how  burdened  or  bent  he  might  be, 
The  weaver  believed  him  more  happy  than  he, 
And  sighed  at  his  weaving. 

"  He  saw  not  the  roses  so  sweet  and  so  red 
That  looked  through  his  window;  he  thought  to  be  dead 
An-]  MUffted  away  from  his  dark  little  room. 
Wrapt  up  in  the  linen  he  had  in  his  loom, 
Were  better  than  weaving. 


HOMES  OF  THE  POOR.  389 

"  Just  then  a  white  angel  came  out  of  the  skies, 
And  shut  up  his  senses,  and  sealed  up  his  eyes, 
And  bore  him  away  from  the  work  at  his  loom 
In  a  vision,  and  left  him  alone  by  the  tomb 
Of  his  dear  little  daughter. 

44  '  My  darling! '  he  cries,  '  what  a  blessing  was  mine! 
How  I  sinned,  having  you,  against  goodness  divine! 
Awake!  O  my  lost  one,  my  sweet  one,  awake! 
And  I  never,  as  long  as  I  live,  for  your  sake, 
Will  sigh  at  my  weaving!  ' 

44  The  sunset  was  gilding  his  low  little  room 
When  the  weaver  awoke  from  his  dream  at  the  loom, 
And  close  at  his  knee  saw  a  dear  little  head 
Alight  with  long  curls, — she  was  living,  not  dead, — 
His  pride  and  his  treasure. 

44  He  winds  the  fine  thread  on  his  shuttle  anew, 
— At  thought  of  his  blessing  'twas  easy  to  do, — 
And  sings  as  he  weaves,  for  the  joy  in  his  breast, 
Peace  cometh  of  striving,  and  labor  is  rest: 
Grown  wise  was  the  weaver." 


HOMES  OF  THE  RICH. 


jT  is  the  duty  of  the  poor  man  to  live  within 
his  income,  but  it  is  no  less  the  duty  of  the 
rich  man  to  make  his  expenditures  propor- 
tionate to  his  income.  People  sometimes 
9  hold  up  their  hands  in  holy  horror  when  they 
read  or  hear  that  some  millionaire  has  spent 
an  enormous  sum  on  his  buildings,  his  ward- 
robe, or  his  garden  ;  but  they  do  not  stop  to 
think  that  he  is  thereby  discharging  a  duty 
which  he  owes  to  society.  He  is  redistribut- 
ing the  money  that  he  has  gathered.  The 
great  mass  of  the  people  must  earn  their  daily 
bread  by  performing  labor  for  others,  but 
only  the  wealthy  can  hire  people  to  labor  for  them.  Hence 
those  who  possess  wealth  and  will  not  spend  it  in  being 
served,  are  the  thieves  and  robbers  of  society.  No  wealthy 
man  has  any  business  to  live  in  a  cottage.  There  are  poor 
people  enough  to  live  in  cottages.  It  is  his  business  to 
live  in  a  palace,  and  to  hire  those  to  build  it  who  live  in 
cottages. 

We  have,  perhaps,  used  the  word  served  unadvisedly. 
We  do  not  mean  that  the  wealthy  man  discharges  his  obli- 


HOMES  OF  THE  RICH.  391 

gation  to  society  when  he  expends  large  sums  to  increase 
his  personal  comforts.  He  should  make  his  wealth  serve 
himself  by  first  making  it  serve  society  in  the  promotion  of 
legitimate  business  enterprise.  Nor  do  we  mean  that  he 
should  expend  upon  his  dwelling  and  for  his  own  personal 
gratification  more  than  can  normally  and  lawfully  minister 
to  his  comfort,  convenience  and  aesthetic  faculties. 

And  yet  there  is  concealed  in  the  very  sentiment  of 
extravagance  to  which  wealth  prompts,  a  kind  of  compensa- 
tory principle ;  one  of  nature's  curative  efforts,  by  which 
the  economic  interests  of  society  are  made  self-acting. 
The  world's  wealth  cannot  be  hoarded  by  individuals  save 
for  a  brief  period.  All  attempts  to  do  so  are  thwarted  by 
nature  herself  through  instrumentalities  so  cunning  and 
subtile  as  to  deserve  our  applause.  She  has  three  pro- 
cesses by  which  she  robs  the  rich  man  of  his  unjust  acquisi- 
tions and  gives  back  the  spoils  to  the  poor.  The  first 
process  she  employs  when  she  deals  with  the  miserly  rich 
man,  the  man  who  has  sacrificed  all  other  sources  of  enjoy- 
ment to  this  one  instinct  of  hoarding.  She  has  so  consti- 
tuted him  that  this  sacrifice,  this  concentration  of  all  the 
energies  of  his  being  upon  the  one  organ  of  acquisitive- 
ness, necessarily  results  in  the  withdrawal  of  potency 
from  the  intellectual.  The  miser's  intellect,  accordingly,  is 
never  broad  and  comprehensive.  He  has,  it  is  true,  a  certain 
degree  or  kind  of  intellectuality,  but  it  is  for  the  most 
part  of  the  same  nature  as  that  of  the  fox.     He  makes  a 


392  OUM  u<> mi-;. 

use  of  his  intellectual  powers  that  is  below  their  normal 
function,  and  hence  tends  to  weaken  them.  This  is  tin- 
process  by  which  organs  and  functions  become  "  abortive," 
as  the  evolutionists  would  term  it.  When  the  wings  of  the 
bird  are  used  chiefly  for  a  purpose  below  their  natural 
function  they  are  becoming  "abortive."  We  see  there- 
suit  of  this  process  in  barn  fowl  that  use  their  wings  only 
to  aid  their  running.  Hence  hens  and  turkeys  are  unable 
to  fly  any  considerable  distance  without  great  exhaustion. 

Just  so  the  intellectual  wings  of  the  miser  are  becoming 
abortive,  for  he  uses  them  not  to  fly  with  but  simply  to  aid 
his  running.  In  very  many  cases  we  have  only  to  wait 
one  generation  to  see  this  abortive  process  completed. 
The  children  of  the  miser  rarely  have  the  executive  force 
to  keep  the  lock  upon  the  father's  chest.  Thus  nature, 
by  a  process  subtler  than  the  necromancy  of  the  Egyptian 
wizard,  gives  back  to  the  world  that  which  lias  been  taken 
from  it. 

Nature  makes  use  of  her  second  method  when  dealing 
with  the  energetic,  active,  shrewd,  and  executive  rich  man, 
the  accumulator  rather  than  the  hoarder.  The  two  are  in 
many  respects  opposite  in  their  characteristics.  The  mer- 
chant, the  manufacturer,  and  the  railroad  king  show  no 
tendency  toward  the  abortive  intellect.  Indeed,  their 
function  is  usually  such  as  to  develop  great  strength  and 
activity  of  intellect.  But  the  miser  proper  is  one  whose 
motto  is,  "a  penny  saved  is  a  penny  earned."     His  sole 


HOMES  OF  THE  RICH.  393 

delight  is  in  the  consciousness  of  his  possessions,  and  in 
counting  and  sorting  his  valuable  papers.  His  money  is 
all  in  bonds  and  mortgages,  hence  he  lives  in  idleness  and 
gloats  over  the  self-accumulation  of  his  wealth. 

Now  this  second  method  which  nature  employs  in  her 
ceaseless  effort  at  equalization  is  simply  this:  she  has 
made  human  nature  such  (and  consequently  society,  which 
is  but  an  outgrowth  of  human  nature,)  that  the  individual 
want  cannot  be  met  except  by  a  contribution  to  the  gen- 
eral good.  Wealth  is  simply  potential  gratification.  But 
it  cannot  minister  to  the  desires  of  him  who  holds  it  save 
as  it  yields  a  secondary  ministration  to  the  general  inter- 
est, whose  relation  with  it  is  the  sole  source  of  its  poten- 
tiality. The  natural  wants  and  desires  of  man  lie  within 
comparatively  narrow  limits.  Bacon  wisely  says,  "  The  per- 
sonal fruition  in  any  man  cannot  reach  to  feel  great  riches." 
A  very  moderate  income  will  meet  all  the  personal  wants 
and  desires  of  man.  He  cannot  want  or  desire  anything 
outside  the  bounds  of  his  nature.  He  desires  food,  but  the 
quantity  has  a  very  obvious  limit,  and  there  must  also  be 
a  comparatively  moderate  limit  to  its  costliness.  He  de- 
sires raiment,  but,  even  if  his  caprice  demands  golden  gar- 
ments, the  inevitable  limit  is  easily  reached.  All  the 
potentiality,  then,  which  his  wealth  possesses,  beyond  a 
small  per  cent.,  must  redound  to  the  general  good  in  spite 
of  him.  The  rich  man  is  the  smallest  stockholder  in  his 
own  wealth. 


OUR  HOME. 

Two  men  were  once  conversing  about  John  Jacob 
Astor's  property.  One  was  asked  if  he  would  be  willing 
to  take  care  of  all  those  millions  merely  for  his  board*  and 
clothing.  "No,"  he  ii id ignantly replied,  "do  you  take  me 
for  a  fool?"  "Well,"  said  the  other,  "that  is  all  Mr. 
Astor  himself  gets  for  taking  care  of  it;  he's  found,  and 
that's  all.  The  houses,  the  warehouses,  the  ships,  the 
farms,  which  he  counts  by  the  hundred,  and  is  often 
obliged  to  take  care  of,  are  for  the  accommodation  of 
others."  "But  then  he  has  the  income,  the  rents  of  all 
this  large  property,  five  or  six  hundred  thousand  dollars  per 
annum."  "Yes,  but  he  can  do  nothing  with  his  income  but 
build  more  houses  and  warehouses  and  ships,  or  loan  money 
on  mortgages  for  the  convenience  of  others.  He's  found, 
and  you  can  make  nothing  else  out  of  it."  The  world 
ought  not  to  complain  so  long  as  it  gets  ninety-nine  per 
cent,  of  the  rich  man's  income.     If  the  rich  man  uses  his 

alth  in  building  tenement  houses  to  rent,  he  not  only 
furnishes  remunerative  labor  to  the  workmen   who  build 

•in,  but  by  his  competition  he  lowers  rent  and  thus  con- 
fers a  general  blessing.  The  same  is  true  if  he  invests  it 
in  railroads,  for  the  more  railroads  the  more  competition, 
and  hence  the  lower  the  rate  of  transportation.  There  is 
but  one  thing  he  can  do  with  his  money  that  will  not 
yield  the  general  good  a  much  larger  contribution  than 
himself.  He  can  lock  it  up  in  his  own  vault.  But  in  that 
case   it  not  only  yields   himself  nothing,  but  nature  will 


HOMES  OF  THE  RICH.  395 

make  use  of  her  first  method  and  will  take  the  money  her- 
self and  leave  his  children  or  grandchildren  penniless. 

Nature's  third  method  is  a  modification  of  her  first. 
She  uses  it  in  her  dealings  with  the  children  of  the  active 
rich  man.  It  is  simply  that  law  of  which  we  have  already 
spoken  in  our  chapter  on  "  Homes  of  the  Poor/'  by  which 
restraint  upon  desire  develops  executive  power.  In  the 
children  of  the  rich  we  see,  perhaps,  little  if  any  tendency 
to  the  abortive  intellect,  but  the  abortive  tendency  is 
chiefly  or  wholly  confined  to  the  executive  powers.  There 
is  much  difference  between  earning  a  dollar,  and  asking 
papa  for  it.  The  boy  who  toils  all  day  for  a  dollar  and 
brings  it  home  at  night,  hungry  and  tired,  not  only  knows 
the  value  of  that  dollar,  but  by  such  a  practice  he  is 
developing  in  his  soul  a  power  of  action  that  will  enable  it 
to  laugh  at  every  obstacle  that  earth  can  offer.  Take  the 
wealth  from  the  children  of  the  rich  and  they  become 
objects  of  charity.  This  is  especially  true  concerning  the 
daughters  of  the  rich.  Poor,  little  pretty  things !  what 
can  they  do  ?  What  are  their  lives  worth  to  their  kind  ? 
One  good,  noble  factory  girl,  who  has  earned  her  daily 
bread  amid  the  roar  of  machinery,  who  knows  what  it  is  to 
"breathe  the  factory  smoke  of  torment  from  the  fuel  of 
human  lives,1'  and  on  whose  heart  is  stamped,  with  the  die 
of  agony,  the  value  of  a  penny,  is  capable  of  yielding  a 
higher  ministration  to  the  world  than  a  thousand  of  the 
pulpy  daughters  of  luxury  and  ease.     God  bless  the  noble 


390  OUR  HOME. 

tory  girls!  And  may  the  time  shortly  come  when  Social 
Science  shall  solve  the  great  problems  of  hunger,  and  cold, 
and  want,  and  shall  release  them  from  their  menial  thrall, 
and  place  in  their  hands  the  golden  key  to  the  secret  of  a 
nobler  li 

We  would  not  be  quoted  by  the  poor  in  justification  of 
their  poverty.  Poverty  is  unnatural  and  undesirable  to 
all,  and  there  is  little  excuse  for  most  people  to  remain  in 
tetters,  making  due  allowance,  however,  for  exceptional 
cases.  Poverty,  like  temptation  and  sin,  yields  its  minis- 
try only  in  the  process  of  being  overcome.  The  tribute 
»  poverty  in  the  preceding  chapter  would  be 
almost  as  applicable  had  our  theme  been  temptation,  yet 
we  would  hardly  advocate  exposing  ourselves  needlessly  to 
ptation  for  the  sake  of  its  possible  ministry. 

All  normal  action  is  disciplinary,  for  every  possible 
gratification  implies  an  aggressive  movement.  The  eternal 
warfare  between  want  and  satisfaction  is  a  natural  war- 
,  and  one  which  cannot  cease  till  the  army  of  creation 
shall  give  the  signal  of  surrender.  And  he  who  refuses 
to  engage  in  this  warfare  is  a  traitorous  deserter,  and 
deserves  the  deserter's  fate.  He  who  is  contented  with 
poverty,  and  seeks  not  to  subdue  it,  must  be  reckoned  with 
this  class ;  he  has  mutinied  against  the  generalship  of  his 
Maker. 

Wealth,  then,  if  it  be  the  representative  and  co-relative 
of  service  done  to  mankind,  so  far  from  being  an  evil  or  a 


HOMES  OF  THE  RICH  397 

necessary  accompaniment  of  moral  demerit,  is  a  badge  of 
honor.  It  is  the  war  record  which  shows  how  far  one  has 
triumphed  over  the  divinely  appointed  opposition  to  his 
progress ;  and  in  this  sense  may  even  justly  be  compared 
with  the  moral  virtues,  which  are  the  spirit's  war  record, 
and  show  how  far  it  has  triumphed,  in  the  spiritual  war- 
fare, over  the  forces  of  temptation  and  evil.  Wealth  is  an 
evil  only  when  it  is  allowed  to  release  its  owner  from  hon- 
orable and  worthy  labor.  No  possible  condition  of  life  can 
release  one  who  is  physically  and  mentally  able,  from  the 
moral  obligation  to  toil. 

But  suppose  one  inherits  a  million.  Shall  he  toil  for  his 
daily  bread  ?  No  !  not  for  his  daily  bread,  but  in  behalf  of 
mankind.  We  have  but  a  secondary  claim  upon  our  own 
powers.  Wealth  augments  our  natural  endowments.  Two 
men  with  equal  talents,  the  one  poor  and  the  other  rich, 
possess  very  unequal  power  for  doing  good.  So  that  the 
man  who  inherits  a  million  should  begin  life  as  though  he 
were  penniless.  We  do  not  mean,  of  course,  that  he 
should  chop  wood  or  learn  the  blacksmith's  trade.  But 
that  he  should  regard  the  million  simply  as  a  re-enforce- 
ment of  his  faculties.  He  is  by  so  much,  a  more  talented 
man,  or  rather  his  natural  talents  are  supplemented  by 
that  which  virtually  makes  them  more  powerful. 

The  rich  in  the  majority  of  cases  violate  the  laws  of  the 
home  life,  from  the  fact  that  they  allow  their  wealth  to 
release  them  from  toil,  the  only  thing  that  can  render  the 


398  OUR  HOME. 

"  earth-life   worth  living."     Indolence   will   render  every 
possible  joy  insipid. 

We  have  said,  in  the  early  part  of  this  chapter,  that 
those  who  possess  wealth  and  will  not  spend  it  in  being 
served  are  the  thieves  and  robbers  of  society.  But  that 
service  should  be  limply  for  the  purpose  of  releasing  them 
from  a  lower  duty  in  order  that  they  may  perform  a  higher 
duty  which  their  wealth  enables  them  to  fulfill.  Hence,  if 
the  wife  and  daughter  will  not  engage  in  some  form  of  ser- 

8  to  their  kind,  they  have  no  moral  right  to  hire  a  ser- 
vant to  serve  their  food  for  them.  Indeed,  they  have  no 
moral  right  to  the  food  itself.  Labor  is  a  natural  ordi- 
nance, and  riches  cannot  release  one  from  the  obligation  to 
a  universal  law.  It  is  as  binding  upon  the  millionaire  as 
upon  the  pauper,  and  he  who  seeks  to  evade  this  law  is  a 
criminal  according  to  the  statutes  of  the  universe. 

Let  every  rich  man's  daughter  engage  in  some  regular 
and  useful  vocation ;  and  thus  bless  herself  by  the  labor, 
and  mankind  with  the  product.  Not  that  we  would  im- 
pose upon  her,  simply  because  she  is  wealthy,  the  somber 
duties  of  a  nun.  But  we  would  have  her  labor  daily  in 
order  that  she  may  fulfill  the  mission  of  her  life,  in  order 
that  she  may  develop  in  herself  and  entail  upon  the  com- 
ing generation  that  which  labor  alone  can  develop.  The 
wife  who  does  not,  at  least,  exercise  a  general  supervision 
over  her  own  household  affairs  is  a  drone  in  society. 

re  is,  however,  no  objection  to  the  employment  of 


HOMES  OF  THE  RICH  399 

domestic  servants,  provided  it  be  necessary;  but  that  law 
of  the  home  life  which  demands  seclusion,  privacy,  and  per- 
sonal management  of  one's  own  affairs,  releases  the  rich 
from  any  obligation  to  furnish  employment  in  this  way, 
and,  all  things  considered,  renders  it  far  better,  both  for 
themselves  and  for  mankind,  that  under  ordinary  circum- 
stances they  should  not  do  so.  In  very  many  rich  families 
the  position  of  servant  is  but  little  better  than  that  of  a 
slave,  so  that  the  employment  which  such  rich  families 
furnish  to  the  poor  is  of  slight  account.  And  in  those 
families  where  the  servant  is  treated  approximately  as  an 
equal,  she  usually,  either  through  the  ignorance  or  indo- 
lence of  the  wife,  has  the  whole  management  of  affairs, 
which  makes  the  home  a  kind  of  boarding-house  or  hotel, 
so  that  the  home-life  becomes  semi-public.  Yet  if  the  wife 
will  treat  her  servant  as  her  equal,  and  at  the  same  tim,e 
exercise  a  general  supervision  over  her  own  household, 
both  these  evils  may  be  obviated.  And  if  the  employment 
of  a  servant  will  thus  afford  the  wife  leisure  to  engage  in 
some  higher  service  to  her  kind,  it  is  surely  her  duty  to 
employ  one.  But  she  should  consider  herself  as  truly  a 
servant  as  the  one  she  employs,  only  in  a  higher  capacity, 
for  when  wealth  makes  one  anything  but  a  servant  of 
humanity,  it  makes  him  a  robber  and  a  thief. 

The  only  absolutely  selfish  motive  that  the  highest 
morality  permits  in  the  accumulation  of  wealth,  is  the 
normal  desire  for  independence  in  all  the  relations  of  life  ; 


400  OUR  HO  Mi:. 

and  if  beyond  this,  nature  has  endowed  one  with  a  special 
capacity  for  acquiring  wealth,  the  product  of  that  capacity, 
like  the  product  of  even  other  form  of  genius,  is  mankind's 
and  not  his. 

The  home  of  the  rich  man  should  represent  as  much 
wealth  as,  thus  expended,  will  have  a  tendency  to  increase 
the  comfort  and  convenience  of  his  family.  Beyond  this, 
however,  he  has  no  moral  right  to  lavish  wealth  upon  his 
home  for  the  mere  gratification  of  his  vanity.  He  should 
invest  it  in  some  honorable  and  useful  industry,  where  it 
will  yield  humanity  a  higher  rate  of  interest  than  that  of 
mere  taxation. 

Burns  has  given  us  the  licenses  of  wealth  in  the  follow- 
ing lines : 

"  But  gather  gear  by  every  wile 
That  i  by  honor; 

Not  for  to  hide  it  in  a  hedge, 
Nor  for  a  train  attendant, 
But  for  the  glorious  privilege 
Of  being  independent." 


THE  OLD-FASHIONED  HOME. 


gASHION  holds  a  legitimate  place  in  human 
affairs.  It  is  based  in  a  constitutional  pecu- 
liarity of  human  nature,  which  is  a  sufficient 
guarantee  that  it  has  a  right  to  be.  It  is 
only  the  abuse  of  fashion  that  makes  it  re- 
pugnant to  the  better  instincts  of  man. 
When  the  proper  definition  of  fashion  is  pre- 
sented to  the  mind  it  meets  with  an  instinct- 
ive approval. 

We  would  define  true  fashion  as  the  uni- 
formity that  results  from  the  conservation  of 
truth  and  beauty.  That  which  is  true  and 
beautiful  is  naturally  conserved,  while  that 
which  is  false  and  ugly  contains  the  seeds  of 
its  own  dissolution.  This  necessary  unifor- 
mity resulting  from  a  constant  law  is  natu- 
ral fashion. 

The  fashion  of  the  world,  for  the  most  part, 
is   artificial  and  false.     It  is   simply  a  tem- 
porary uniformity  resulting  from  caprice.     There  are  two 

elements   that  enter   into  the  composition  of  the  fashion 
u 


402  OUR  HOME. 

sentiment,  and  the  virtue  or  vice  of  the  fashion  is  deter- 
mined by  the  proportion  of  these  elements.  First,  a  love 
of  the  beautiful  and  true,  and  second,  a  love  of  novelty. 
Any  given  fashion  is  capricious,  short-lived,  and  generally 
absurd,  just  in  proportion  as  the  latter  element  predomi- 
nates over  the  former. 

There  is  no  more  appropriate  sphere  for  the  display  of 
legitimate  fashion  than  the  home  world,  which,  perhaps,  in 
}>nt  accounts  for  the  fact  that  in  all  ages  architecture  has 
stood  foremost  among  the  arts.  And,  perhaps,  it  is  in  this 
field  that  fashion  has  maintained  itself  purest  from  the 
adulterations  of  caprice.  Few  houses  or  buildings  in  the 
construction  of  which  there  is  any  pretense  to  archi- 
tectural skill,  exhibit  a  serious  violation  of  natural  and 
wholesome  taste.  Unlike  the  varying  patterns  of  ladies' 
bonnets  and  gentlemen's  coats,  which  vibrate  from  extreme 
to  extreme,  the  architectural  ideal  seems  to  recognize  cer- 
tain fundamental  and  unchanging  laws  of  taste  and  har- 
mony. 

It  is  true  that  there  have  been  marked  changes  in  archi- 
tecture. It  has  grown  with  the  race  from  the  rude  struc- 
ture of  the  savage  to  the  imposing  palace  of  the  nineteenth 
century. 

But  in  every  period  there  has  been  an  evident  tendency 
to  abide  perpetually  by  principles,  as  fast  as  men  have 
been  able  to  develop  them. 

Each  decade    witnesses  modifications  in  the    details  of 


THE  OLD-FASHIONED  HOME.  403 

architectural  adornment,  but  this  does  not  touch  the  fact  of 
permanence  in  the  architectural  ideal. 

It  is,  in  part,  such  permanence  that  makes  the  old-fash- 
ioned houses  seem  beautiful  to  us,  for  these  houses,  with 
their  well-sweeps,  huge  chimneys,  and  naked  gables  violate 
no  essential  law  of  beauty. 

To  be  beautiful  and  tasteful  a  thing  must  violate  no  law 
of  its  relations.  So  essential  is  this  that  some  have  defined 
beauty  as  "superior  fitness."  According  to  this  definition 
a  thing  may  be  beautiful  to-day  and  otherwise  to-morrow. 
When  it  loses  its  fitness  it  loses  its  beauty.  But  no  argu- 
ment of  fitness  or  unfitness  can  take  away  the  beauty  from 
the  old-fashioned  fire-place  with  its  cheerful  flames,  which 
like  a  band  of  gold-capped  spirits,  half  in  earnest,  half  in 
jest,  chase  each  other  up  the  broad  chimney.  No  person 
of  sensitive  mind  can  sit  without  emotion  beside  those 
century-old  hearthstones  and  watch  upon  a  stormy  night 
"  the  great  fires  up  the  chimney  roar." 

We  seem  to  see  reflected  from  the  ever  changing  golden 
sheen  of  the  blaze  the  images  of  merry  boys  and  girls  at 
play,  or  with  their  slates  and  pencils  solving  by  the  flicker- 
ing light  the  problems  assigned  them  by  the  old  school- 
master who  long  ago  dismissed  the  school  for  the  last  time. 
Oh !  the  visions  that  we  see  in  the  fire,  visions  of  the  for- 
gotten long  ago,  of  joys  and  sorrows  strangely  blent ;  vis- 
ions of  romping  boyhood  and  laughing  girlhood,  visions  of 
love's  first  dream,  of  eyes  that  caught  the    broken  story 


404  OUR  HOME. 

from  trembling  lips  that  could  not  speak  it ;  visions  of  the 
bridal  queen  crowned  with  coronet  of  maiden  blushes;  vis- 
ions of  life's  stern  battle;  visions  of  sorrows  first  shadow, 
of  red-eyed  grief  and  midnight  watchingfl  ;  visions  of  all 
life's  checkered  pathway,  as  it  winds  through  Bowery  fields 
or  over  pain's  hot  desert  sands,  through  the  fragrant  spice 
groves  of  joy  or  over  sorrow's  mountain  crags. 

We  would  not  proclaim  ourselves  u  fogies  M  ;  far  from  it. 
We  are  enthusiasts  in  every  eoneeivahie  species  of  human 
reform,  and  yet  we  are  compelled  to  consider  the  old- 
fashioned  home  as  the  typical  representative  of  the  natural 
institution  of  home.  We  speak  now,  not  so  much  with 
reference  to  the  mere  outward  difference  of  architectural 
designs,  etc.,  which  superficially  distinguishes  the  old  from 
the  new-fashioned  home,  but  more  particularly  with  refer- 
ence to  those  inner  and  vital  differences  that  distinguish 
the  two  modes  of  home  life. 

It  is  painful  to  know  that  the  modern  home  life  differs 
from  the  old-fashioned  chiefly  in  its  departure  from  the 
standard  of  nature. 

There  is  hardly  a  feature  of  the  modern  home  that  does 
not  proclaim  itself  to  the  most  casual  observer  a  defiant 
breach  of  natural  law.  Lei  us  imagine  ourselves  members 
of  the  board  of  health,  and  in  that  capacity  let  us  inspecta 
typical  modern  home.    A  servant  responds  to  the  ringing  of 

the  hell  and  informs  us  that  wk  Mrs. is  not  in,"  meaning 

dimply  thai    she  has  not  yet — at  ten  o'clock — risen.     This 


THE  OLD-FASHIONED  HOME.  405 

is  simply  a  patent  process  of  elongation,  to  which  the  trnth 
is  subjected  to  meet  the  demands  of  fashionable  society. 
Of  course  it  is  not  at  all  injurious  to  truth.  When  we 
make  known  our  official  business  we  are  admitted,  and  the 
servant  shows  us  to  the  kitchen,  where  we  learn  nothing  in 
particular  except  the  most  approved  process  of  shortening 
human  life,  and  of  destroying  the  teeth,  morals,  etc.,  of  the 
next  generation.  We  next  enter  the  sitting-room.  We 
are  almost  nauseated  by  the  sickening  odor  of  coal  gas 
that  is  fast  escaping  through  the  open  door  of  the  coal 
stove  while  the  back  damper  is  closed.  The  servant  as- 
sures us,  however,  that  it  is  nothing  unusual,  and  declares 
she  "can't  smell  a  thing."  We  go  to  the  window  and  try 
to  raise  it  unobserved,  but  to  no  purpose.  There  are  two 
windows,  and  the  outside  one  doesn't  "shove  up."  The 
house,  of  course,  has  all  the  modern  improvement,  includ- 
ing that  beautiful  invention  of  double  windows,  which  has 
perhaps  lengthened  the  u  consumption  column "  in  the 
statistics  of  human  mortality  more  than  any  other  inven- 
tion of  man.     "There  is  a  register  in  the   chimney,  but 

Mrs. says  the  room  doesn't  heat  up  so  well  when  it  is 

open,  so  we  keep  it  closed  all  the  time." 

Do  the  children  frequently  have  colds  with  sick  head- 
ache ?     "  O,  and  to  be  shure  they  do  most  all  the  time, 

but  Mrs. thinks  it  is  because  the  house  isn't  war-rm 

enough,  and  shure  it  looks  rasonable.  She's  put  a  coal 
stove  in  their  slapin'  room."     As  we  find  it  impossible  to 


406  OUR  HOME. 

iwer  Hridget's  argument,  we  will  proceed  to  inspect  the 

lor.  As  we  enter  we  shudder  with  a  sensation  of 
dampness.  Bridget  draws  aside  the  curtain,  and  raising 
the  window  a   few  inches  turns  the  slats  of  one  blind  on 

the  north  ride.     "Mrs.  says  we  mustn't  let  the  light 

Bhine  in  the  parlor,  because  it  fades  the  car-rpet.  There 
ain't  been  no  drop  o'  light  in  the  room  afore  since  six 
months  ago." 

Let  us  leave  the  parlor  in  its  darkened  beauty  and  go  to 
the  children's  deeping  room,  where  the  coal  stove  has  been 
set  up  to  keep  the  little  creatures  from  %k  catching  cold/' 
We  find  a  room  nine  feet  by  twelve  with  one  window.  Of 
course  the  door  must  be  kept  dosed  during  the  night  that 
the  coal  stove  may  be  effectual  in  preventing  the  children 
from  taking  cold.  Economy  dictates  that  it  isn't  necessary 
that  the  coal  stove  should  do  it  all,  so  a  double  window  is 
put  on  and  cotton  is  tucked  in  around  the  joints ;  anything 
to  keep  the  "  cold  air  out." 

One  of  the  most  ingenious  and  economical  inventions  of 
modern  times  is  the  process  of  warming  our  dwellings  with 
our  own  breath.  Air  that  has  been  breathed  once  or  twice 
is  apt  to  be  a  little  unwholesome ;  but  then  it  saves  coal, 
and  so  we  can  afford  to  have  sick  headaches,  and  to  rise  in 
the  morning  with  heavy,  dull  spirits,  with  furred  tongues 
and  yellow  skins. 

We  have  not  overdrawn  our  picture  of  the  modern 
home.     Nor  have  we  selected  one  of  the  fashionable  homes 


THE  OLD-FASHIONED  HOME.  407 

of  the  rich ;  for  these,  indeed,  in  many  respects,  approach 
the  old-fashioned  home.  They  generally  have  more  spa- 
cious sleeping  rooms,  and  the  greater  size  of  such  houses 
secures  better  ventilation  throughout.  It  is  the  average 
home  of  the  great  middle  class  that  we  have  described, 
though,  perhaps,  we  have  made  a  freer  use  of  hyperbole 
than  is  consistent  with  ordinary  descriptive  writing.  We 
do  not  hesitate  to  express  our  conviction  that  the  un- 
hygienic principles  involved  in  the  construction  and  man- 
agement of  the  modern  home  are  the  prime  causes  of 
consumption  and  dyspepsia,  those  two  fell  scourges  to  the 
human  family,  from  which  probably  a  far  greater  number 
perish  than  from  the  stereotyped  curses  of  "  war,  pestilence, 
and  famine." 

If  society  has  a  moral  right  to  compel  men  to  train  them- 
selves in  the  use  of  sword  and  musket,  in  order  that  they 
may  be  able  to  meet  and  repel  the  onslaughts  of  war  and 
conquest,  and  thus  save  their  children  from  bondage  and 
disgrace,  why  has  it  not  also  a  right  to  compel  them  to  so 
train  and  govern  their  bodies  hygienically  as  to  repel  the 
fiercer  onslaught  of  foul  disease,  and  thus  save  their  chil- 
dren from  the  darker  bondage  of  inherited  weakness  and 
premature  death?  There  may  be  a  shade  of  the  ludicrous 
in  our  claim,  but  we  believe  that  society  has  the  same 
moral  right  to  prohibit,  in  the  construction  of  all  new 
dwellings,  the  nine  l>y  twelve  "  bed  room  "  that  it  has  to 
prohibit  the  grog-shop ;  the  same  right  to  enforce  ventila- 


408  OUR  HOME. 

tion  and  all  the  general  laws  of  hygiene  in  our  private 
dwellings,  that  it  has  to  make  laws  for  the  prevention  of 
suicide  and  infant ici 

Such  an  exercise  of  civil  authority  would  violate  no 
natural  right  of  man.  Man  belongs  not  to  himself,  but  to 
the  world.  The  wheel  is  not  its  own  but  the  engine's. 
We  possess  but  one  natural  right  vouchsafed  to  us  by  our 
Maker,  the  right  to  make  the  most  of  ourselves,  and  all 
sub-divisions  of  tins  one  great  right  are  inseparably  con- 
nected with  corresponding  duties*  Indeed,  one  can  have 
no  natural  right  to  perform  a  single  act  which  it  is  not  his 
duty  U)  1.     This  may  not  at  first  receive  the  ready 

credence  of  the  general  reader,  especially  of  the  American 
who  has  been  accustomed  to  give  such  extravagant  defini- 
tions to  the  word  liberty.  But  upon  careful  thought  we 
tins!  that  all  will  assent  to  its  truth.  Probably  no  human 
being  is  able  at  any  time  to  tell  just  what  kind  or  extent 
of  action  is  allowed  by  his  natural  right,  or  demanded  by 
this  natural  dut\ .  We  surely  have  a  natural  right  to  eat 
just  that  (juantity  of  food  that  will  meet  the  requirements 
of  our  physical  nature,  no  more,  no  less,  and  no  one  would 
contend  that  the  verdict  of  duty,  if  the  exact  bounds  could 
be  ascertained,  would  not  be  precisely  the  same. 

This  illustration  is  no  more  obvious  than  that  which  it 
is  intended  to  illustrate,  viz.,  the  application  of  this  princi- 
ple to  every  function  and  relation  of  life.  When  one 
ceases  to  act  in  accordance  with  this  principle,  and  in  so 


THE  OLD-FASHIONED  HOME.  409 

doing  falls  below  the  aggregate  intelligence  of  society,  he 
becomes  a  proper  subject  for  civil  guardianship  and  gov- 
ernmental regulation.  Few  question  the  right  of  society 
to  prevent  a  man  from  taking  into  his  stomach  poison  liquid 
in  the  form  of  alcohol,  but  why  should  they  question  its 
right  to  prevent  him  from  taking  into  his  lungs  poison  gas 
in  the  form  of  air  that  has  been  robbed  of  its  oxygen  and 
charged  with  carbonic  acid  by  the  vital  demands  of  half  a 
dozen  persons  in  a  tight,  unventilated  room,  its  atmosphere, 
perhaps,  still  further  vitiated  by  the  liberal  contributions  of 
a  kerosene  lamp  or  two  ?  Are  fluids  and  gases  so  different 
in  their  nature  that  society  has  a  moral  right  to  prohibit 
the  use  of  the  poison  fluid  of  the  grog-shop,  while  it  has  no 
right  to  prohibit  the  free  use  of  the  deadly  gas  of  the  small, 
unventilated  sleeping-room  ? 

Our  condemnation  of  the  unhygienic  features  of  the 
modern  home  ma}r  seem  somewhat  strange,  but  while  we 
acknowledge  the  views  to  be  radical  and  the  language 
strong,  we  are  sure  they  do  no  injustice  to  our  convictions. 

While  we  believe  emphatically  in  all  the  civilizing 
forces ;  while  we  would  bid  God-speed  to  every  useful  in- 
vention ;  and  while  our  faith  in  man's  progression  and  ulti- 
mate achievements  amounts  almost  to  fanaticism, — we 
must  still  contend  that  the  modern  home  in  most  of  its  fea- 
tures is  a  retrogression  and  not  an  advancement. 

Yet  this  is  not  necessary.  Nor  is  it  due  to  tte  refine- 
ment of  the  modern  home.     It  is  not  attributable  to  the 


410  S  EOME, 

piano  and  the  cooking  range,  to  the  fine  pictures,  the 
orations,  the  drapery  and  the  beauty,  bat  to  the  un- 
hygienic influences,  the  carbonic  acid  and  the  enervating 
luxury.  The  people  of  America  need  entertain  no  fears 
from  the  frequent  ebullitions  of  political  passion.  They 
are  the  necessary  accompaniments  of  self-government. 
But  on  the  garnished  walls  often  thousand  private  houses 
there  appears,  to  him  who  can  read  it,  a  handwriting  that 
hints  at  possible  doom.  In  the  dim,  uncertain  shadows  of 
the  hour  a  fingei  points  to  the  deserted  banquet  halls  of 
Nineveh  and  Babylon  and  Persia,  and  in  our  languid 
luxury  there  is  a  sickening  suggestion  of  the  feast-couch, 
Rome's  death-bed.  The  same  spell  of  public  and  private 
effeminacy  seems  to  be  settling  over  us  thai  lias  prefaced 
doom  ol  perished  empire  whose  pathetic  wrecks 

now  strew  the  shores  of  time.  Physical  weakness,  espe- 
cially of  women,  in  every  .age  has  been  the  almost  invari- 
able prognostic  of  national  downfall,  and  who  will  deny 
that  there  are  indications  in  this  direction  that  may  justly 
excite  alarm?  We  have  no  sympathy  with  those  mourn- 
ful, dyspeptic  alarmists  who  are  forever  sounding  the  sig- 
nal of  ''trouble  ahead,"  for  the  mere  pleasure  of  listening 
to  the  music  of  their  own  blast.  And  yet  we  believe 
re  are  forces  at  work  in  American  society  that  should 
>e  thoughtful  men  and  women  seriously  to  reflect. 
Wt  have  not  criticised  the  modern  home  thus  severely 
because  it  is  a  modern  home.     We    condemn    only  those 


THE  OLD-FASHIONED  HOME.  411 

evil  features  that  constitute  no  necessary  part  of  the 
home. 

The  more  modern  the  home  the  better.  The  world's 
latest  thought  is  its  best,  and  we  can  truly  say  from  our 
heart,  God  bless  the  noble  inventors  of  our  land  who  are 
lifting  the  burden  of  drudgery  from  the  shoulders  of 
women.  We  are  glad  that  the  old-fashioned  loom  has 
been  used  for  kindling  wood.  We  are  glad  that  spinning 
no  longer  constitutes  the  chief  occupation  of  our  girls  ;  and 
yet  if  this  release  from  the  bondage  of  labor  results  only  in 
idleness,  as  it  does  in  too  many  homes,  better  a  thousand 
times  that  the  hum  of  the  spinning-wheel  should  again  be 
heard  ! 

If  the  modern  home  with  its  many  true  improvements 
would  conserve  the  naturalness  of  the  old-fashioned  home, 
we  should  have  one  that  would  be  typical  of  all  that  hope 
points  to  in  the  great  hereafter,  but  until  it  does  this  we 
must  regard  the  old-fashioned  home  of  our  fathers  as  the 
best  and  truest  type  of  that  which  we  hope  awaits  us. 

"  Isolated,  bleak,  and  dreary,  stands  the  old  house  on  the  hill. 

Rooms  that  rang  with  mirth  and  music  now  are  empty,  silent,  still. 

Desolation  reigns  supremely,  and  the  old  house  bare  and  lone 

Stands  with  many  a  broken  window,  through  which  cheerful  lights  once  shone; 

Wrapped  in  dust  and  hung  with  cobwebs,  how  each  empty,  low-ceiled  room 

Seemingly  resents  in  echoes  every  loudly  spoken  tone. 

Houses  old  and  bare  and  lonely,  thickly  o'er  this  land  of  ours, 

Stand,  like  long-forgotten  headstones,  'midst  their  tangled  growth  of  flowers. 
*»*♦*♦********* 
"  Never  then  forsake  the  roof-tree,  from  its  shelter  do  not  roam; 

Like  a  sacred  shrine  of  incense,  keep  the  altar  fires  of  home. 

For  of  all  the  piteous  ruins,  not  one  comes  so  near  my  heart 

As  some  old  deserted  homestead  where  once  life  and  love  had  part." 


OUR  LAST  FAREWELL  OF  HOME. 


|]N  the  programme  of  every  human  life  is  writ- 
ten "  final  scene  " — monitory  of  the  hurried 
farewell,  the  choking  sob,  and  the  parting 
forever.  No  matter  how  bright  has  been  the 
rainbow  of  youth's  promise,  no  matter  how 
fair  and  serene  life's  course  has  been,  the 
end  of  that  life  shall  be  Bobfl  and  tears.  But 
one  is  never  called  from  his  earthly  home 
until  he  is  willing  to  leave  it.  He  is  per- 
suaded, instead  of  compelled  to  seek  an- 
other home.  We  refer,  of  course,  to  the 
process  of  a  natural  death,  resulting  simply 
from  old  age.  No  provision  has  been  made 
to  lighten  the  agonies  of  suicide,  or  an  untimely  death. 
The  principle,  however,  which  we  shall  mention,  seems 
even  in  these  cases  to  act  to  a  certain  extent,  but  it  is  only 
during  the  actual  process  of  death.  It  does  not  lessen  that 
instinctive  tenacity  to  life  that  makes  the  very  thought  of 
death  a  source  of  sorrow. 

It    has   been   said   that   one   may   live   as   long   as   he 
chooses,  and  as  a  rule  this  is  true,  for  as  a  rule  one  may, 


OUR  LAST  FAREWELL  OF  HOME.  413 

by  temperance  and  moderation,  die  a  natural  death ;  that 
is,  by  the  gradual  decay  of  all  the  powers.  When  this  is 
the  case  the  instinct  of  life  is  one  of  the  first  to  die. 
Hence  when  one  cannot  live  any  longer,  he  will  not  choose 
to  live.  This  is  the  means  by  which  God  persuades  us  to 
leave  our  earthly  home.  He  convinces  us  and  makes  us 
feel  that  it  would  be  better  for  us  to  leave  the  home  that 
no  longer  has  any  charm  for  us.  He  takes  away  the  in- 
stinctive love  of  life  and  transfers  the  home  life. 

We  have  said  that  the  love  of  life  is  one  of  the  first  in- 
stincts to  die.  It  would,  doubtless,  be  the  first  were  it  not 
for  the  fact  that  nature  preserves  it  as  long  as  it  can  be  of 
any  use  to  us.  It  is  this  same  instinct  that  gives  the 
power  to  resist  death,  and  to  live  amid  influences  that 
tend  to  destroy  life.  Without  this  we  could  not  live  an 
hour.  Now  it  would  not  be  wise  in  nature  to  allow  this 
instinct  to  die  so  long  as  we  are  capable  of  living  any 
longer.  But  no  sooner  has  this  stage  been  passed  than  all 
dread  of  death  at  once  ceases,  and  the  person  softly  sinks 
into  the  arms  of  death  as  the  child  sinks  into  slumber. 

The  death  of  this  instinct  is  not  instantaneous,  for  it  is 
subject  to  the  same  law  of  decay  as  the  other  powers. 
But  its  death  always  precedes  that  of  the  general  system. 

The  testimony  of  the  old  will  confirm  this  doctrine,  that 
the  love  of  life  and  the  fear  of  death  gradually  vanish  as 
they  approach  life's  goal.  The  poet  has  said,  "  There  is  a 
beauty  in  woman's  decay."     But  this  beauty  of  decay  is 


II  I  OUR  llUMi:. 

not  confined  to  woman.  There  is  a  beauty  in  the  decay 
of  humanity.  The  law  of  beauty  is  the  law  of  complete- 
ness. It  is  embodied  in  the  principle  of  the  oirde.  All 
forms  of  beauty  may  be  reduced  to  this  principle.  II,  : 
old  age  must  be  the  very  symbol  and  embodiment  of  beauty, 
for  is  it  not  the  typical  example  of  completeness?  It  repre- 
sents the  completion  of  a  life's  experience.  It  is  the  tri- 
umphant period  in  which  the  arcs  of  the  great  circle  are 
daring  with  ■  divine  beauty  that  appeals  not  to  the  eye, 
hut  to  the  BOUL  It  must  be  felt  by  the  spirit  that  can  j 
ceive  a  beauty  in  the  universal  plan. 

We  are  so  constituted  that  in  any  given  period  of  our 
lives  we  are  best  sat isfiet I  with  the  conditions  and  cireum- 
stances  that  naturally  surround  us  at  that  period.  The 
youth  wishes  that  he  might  always  be  a  youth,  the  young 
man  wishes  that  he  might  always  be  twenty-five.  The 
mature  man  thinks  he  would  like  to  stop  just  where  he  is, 
and  forever  remain  at  the  height  and  glory  of  his  powers, 
but  the  old  man  thinks  the  best  time  to  stop  is  when 
the  labor  of  life  is  done  and   he  can  sit   down  and  enjoy 

'.      It    is   the  old  man  alone  whose  wish  is  granted.      lie 

is  permitted  to  rest,  and  as  he  has  nothing  to  do  but  rest 

and   feast  his  soul  on  divine  beauty,  he   is   not  particular 

whether  he  takes  that  rest  and  drinks  in  that  beauty  while 

at  the  sunset  of  this  life  or  the  sunrise  of  the  next. 

Contentment  is  the  natural  condition  of  the  human 
mind.      !  m  abnormal  condition,  and  the  ten- 


OUR  LAST  FAREWELL  OF  HOME.  415 

dency  to  be  satisfied  with  present  conditions  and  circum- 
stances descends  into  the  minuter  relations  of  life.  In 
summer  we  feel  that  we  could  not  possibly  endure  the 
winter,  but  when  the  winter  comes  there  comes  with  it 
new  pleasures  and  delights  which  we  would  not  exchange 
for  those  of  the  summer.  Even  on  a  beautiful  morning 
we  are  apt  to  wish  it  would  always  remain  morning,  and 
when  enjoying  ourselves  at  some  evening  entertainment 
we  think  the  evening  the  most  delightful  part  of  the  day. 

This  principle  in  our  nature  manifests  itself  still  more 
forcibly  in  old  age.  When  we  reach  that  period  we  are  in 
that  condition  spiritually  as  well  as  physically  in  which 
the  only  pleasures  that  we  can  enjoy,  or  that  we  desire  to 
be  able  to  enjoy,  are  just  those  which  are  given  us. 

In  the  process  of  death  we  see  that  the  lowest  powers 
die  first.  If  the  face  of  the  dying  be  watched  there  will 
be  seen  to  play  over  it,  in  regular  succession,  the  expres- 
sion of  the  various  faculties  in  the  order  of  their  rank. 
The  last  to  die  are  the  moral  and  religious. 

These  leave  their  divine  impress  upon  the  countenance, 
hence  the  calm,  holy  and  serene  look  so  often  seen  upon 
the  faces  of  the  dead. 

The  terror  of  death  recedes  just  as  fast  as  we  approach 
it,  and  when  we  reach  the  last  stage  of  decay  the  dark 
river  is  found  to  be  illumined  by  the  mirrored  stars  of 
faith. 

There  are  joys  in  age  which  youth  cannot  know.     They 


lit  OUR  HOME. 

come  not  as  miserable  compensations  for  infirmity,  but 
they  are  the  ones  which  approach  nearest  to  perfection. 
They  come  as  a  free  gift;  those  of  youth  and  manhood 

must  be  won  by  toil.  The  youth  finds  no  joy  in  rest  nor 
in  i  on,  for  hi  unwritten  and  he  lias  noth- 

ing to  meditate  upon.  A  feverish  ambition  hums  in  the 
brain  of  the  young  man,  for  he  feels  that  he  has  every- 
thing to  accomplish  in  I  few  short  years,  and  whatever 
joy  he  receives  he  must  receive  it  discounted  at  the  bank 
of  toil. 

Youth  and  manhood  have  their  joys,  pure  and  deep  and 
holy.     Joy  is  the  only  natural   and  normal   condition  of 

:  v  human  soul  tliroi  y  hour  of  its  being  from  the 

cradle  to  eternity,  and  yet  we  niu>t  draw  this  wide  distinc- 
tion between  the  joys  of  youth  and  those  of  age.  The 
former  have  in  them  the  element  of  exhaustion,  and  are 
allied  to  those  of  intoxication,  while  the  latter  seem  in  their 
very  nature  strength-giving.  Age  derives  no  mean  joy 
from  tracing  through  their  complex  evolutions  the  great 
events  of  human  history.     It  is  to  age  alone  that  these  gr« 

nts  are  visible  from  their  inception  to  their  completion. 
Where  age  beholds  beauty,  order  and  divinity,  youth  be- 
holds but  fragments,  chaos  and  chance.  The  old  man 
derives  a  conviction  from  his  long  experience  and  observa- 
tion that  "there's  a  divinity  that  shapes  our  ends.''  He 
sees,  as  youth  came  he  beauty  and  significance  of  a 

completed.     To  him  death  is  hut   the  crowning  act  in 


OUR  LAST  FAREWELL  OF  HOME.  417 

life's  great  drama,  the  opening  of  a  golden  gate  at  the  end 
of  life's  narrow  lane. 

Life  and  death  are  counterparts  of  each  other.  There 
are  those,  however,  who  believe  that  physical  death  came  to 
man  as  a  punishment  for  sin,  and  that  had  it  not  been  for 
sin,  all  mankind  would  have  lived  eternally  upon  the  earth. 
But  the  law  that  dooms  man  to  physical  death  is  the  same 
which  dooms  the  animalcule.  If  the  coral  reefs  were  in 
process  of  formation  when  the  first  sin  was  committed  it 
was  because  the  corals  were  dying  then.  Did  not  death 
obtain  among  the  finny  tribes  of  the  ocean,  perhaps  a 
single  year  would  be  sufficient  to  crowd  the  deep  to  over- 
flowing ;  but  if  the  animals  were  dying,  then  must  not  all 
which  is  subject  to  the  organic  law  have  died  also  ?  Man 
is  as  subject  to  the  organic  law  as  any  other  member  of 
the  animal  kingdom.  He  eats  and  drinks  and  breathes 
and  sleeps  as  they  do.  Some  of  these  animals  are  not 
only  made  on  the  same  general  plan  as  man,  but  they 
possess  every  physical  organ  corresponding  in  position  and 
action,  and  both  animals  and  man  owe  their  lives  to  the 
vital  action  in  these  organs. 

Now  can  any  one  believe  that  the  great  process  of  vital 
action  in  man,  of  digestion  and  respiration,  was  governed 
by  some  other  principle  before  he  did  wrong  for  the  first 
time,  and  was  afterwards  changed?  Of  all  the  outgrown 
doctrines  of  dogmatic  theology,  this  must  be  regarded  as 
the  most  childish  and  unscientific.     We  must  not  be  mis- 

27 


418  OUR  HOME, 

led  by  creeds  which  are  at  variance  with  natural  Law. 
We  must  not  regard  death  as  a  penal  expedient.  It  can 
afford  us  no  hope  or  consolation  to  regard  it  as  such. 
Human  death  is  as  much  an  ordinance  of  nature  as  the  fad- 
ing of  the  rainbow  or  the  withering  of  the  rose.  The 
doom  of  eternal  change  is  written  with  a  pen  divine  upon 
all  that  lives.  We  can  regard  death  only  as  a  voyage  that 
separates  us  from  those  we  love.  We  gaze  upon  a  face 
while  over  it  there  falls  a  stillness  deeper  than  slumber, 
and  the  last  smile  that  reaches  us  from  that  receding  spirit 
is  like  the  waving  of  a  kerchief  far  out  at  sea.  The  ship 
sinks  beneath  the  horizon  into  the  unknown  beyond,  and 
with  sad  steps  we  move  away  from  the  dark  wharf,  not 
knowing  whence  our  friend  has  gone. 

The  doctrine  which  teaches  that  physical  death  is  a  pun- 
ishment for  sin,  we  believe,  has  done  much  to  weaken  the 
faith  of  mankind  in  the  doctrine  of  immortality,  by  giving 
to  it  the  air  of  superstition.  A  genuine  outgrowth  of 
man's  nature  cannot  be  at  variance  with  the  highest  philoso- 
phy. Man  is  the  highest  specimen  in  the  great  cabinet  of 
natural  history,  the  chrysalis  that  holds  a  prophecy  of 
higher  environments. 

We  must  look  beyond  the  fact  of  death  for  hope.  We 
must  look  to  the  analysis  of  that  which  suffers  the  change, 
and  see  if  its  nature  and  relations  be  such  that  death  can 
doom  it  to  oblivion. 

In    our  next  chapter  we  shall  try  to  show  that  man's 


OUR  LAST  FAREWELL  OF  HOME.  419 

nature  itself  holds  the  credentials  of  his  immortality,  that 
just  as  the  nature  of  the  lungs  would  prove  the  existence 
of  air,  so  man's  spiritual  organization  proves  the  existence 
of  God  and  the  fact  of  immortality. 

But  in  this  chapter  we  are  considering  only  the  mid- 
night tragedy  of  death,  in  which  the  scenery  is  dark  and 
the  actors  are  cruel.  We  have  reason  to  believe,  however, 
that  the  curtain  falls  before  the  play  is  ended,  for  the  last 
scene  is  too  stupendous  for  the  stage  appliances  of  earth. 
The  lights  are  too  dull  to  represent  the  glory  of  that  sub- 
lime tableau.  Hence  the  cunning  plot,  that  makes  the 
curtain  fall  with  a  rush  that  extinguishes  the  lights  and 
leaves  the  death-bed  watchers  frantic  and  bathed  in  tears 
— a  wailing  audience  in  a  darkened  theater. 

"  Lo!  'tis  a  gala  night 

Within  the  lonesome  latter  years! 
An  angel  throng,  bewinged,  bedight 

In  veils,  and  drowned  in  tears, 
Sit  in  a  theater  of  hopes  and  fears, 

While  the  orchestra  breathes  fitfully 
The  music  of  the  spheres. 

"  Mimes,  in  the  form  of  God  on  high, 

Mutter  and  mumble  low, 
And  hither  and  thither  fly; 

Mere  puppets  they,  who  come  and  go 
At  bidding  of  vast  formless  things 

That  shift  the  scenery  to  and  fro, 
Flapping  from  out  their  condor  wings 

Invisible  woe! 

"  That  motley  drama!  ah,  be  sure 
It  shall  not  be  forgot ! 
With  its  Phantom  chased  for  evermore, 
By  a  crowd  that  seize  it  not, 


420  OUR  HOME. 

Through  a  circle  that  ever  returneth  in 

To  the  self  •same  spot; 
And  much  of  Madness,  and  more  of  Sin, 

And  Horror,  the  soul  of  the  plot! 

"  But  see,  amid  the  mimic  rout 

A  crawling  shape  intrude! 
A  blood-red  thing  that  writhes  from  out 

The  scenic  solitude! 
It  writhes!— it  writhes!— with  mortal  pangs 

The  mimes  become  its  food, 
And  the  seraphs  sob  at  vermin  fangs 

In  human  gore  imbued. 

"Out— out  are  the  lights,— out  all! 

And  over  each  q  : « »rm, 

The  curtain,  I  fun. -nil  pall, 

Comes  down  with  the  rush  of  a  storm — 
And  the  angels  all  pallid  and  wan, 

Uprising,  unveiling,  athrm 
That  the  play  is  the  tragedy  '  Man,' 

And  its  hero,  the  Conqueror  Worm." 


HEAVEN  OUR  HOME. 


JE  have  thought  it  expedient  to  consider  this 
chapter  wholly  in  the  light  of  reason.  And 
should  the  devout  Christian  feel  that  the 
coldness  of  its  logic  is  inconsistent  with  the 
subject,  we  assure  him  that  it  is  not  because 
we  are  not  in  the  fullest  sympathy  with  the 
Christian  ideal,  but  because  we  have  pur- 
posely aimed  to  treat  the  subject  from  the 
standpoint  of  science. 

This  is  why  we  have  avoided  all  reference  to  Scriptural 
authority,  even  where  such  reference  would  seem  peculiarly 
appropriate. 

It  is  the  skeptic  who  most  requires  to  be  convinced  of 
the  cardinal  truths  of  religion.  But  with  him  Scriptural 
evidence  has  little  weight,  while  he  is  usually  proud  of  his 
scientific  attainments.  So  we  believe  the  thoughtful  Chris- 
tian will  rejoice  in  the  method  we  have  chosen. 

It  is  not  our  purpose  in  this  chapter  to  attempt  any 
description  of  that  place  or  condition  toward  which  the 
instinct  of  faith  in  all  ages  has  pointed  mankind.  Our 
efforts  will  be  simply  to  satisfy  enquiring  minds  that  the 


OUR  WOMB. 

objective  of  that  universal  instinct  through  whioh  human- 
ity looks  Godward  and  heavenward,  is  real  and  not  a  delu- 
i.  The  great  need  of  our  age  is  a  firm  belief  in  the 
lity  of  man's  religious  nature.  The  most  pernicious 
effects  of  modern  skepticism  are  seen  in  its  attempts  to 
undermine  this  belief.  Let  mankind  once  be  firmly  con- 
vinced on  scientific  grounds  that  man  is  a  religious  being, 
that  there  is  a  real  rignifioanoe  in  his  religious  intuitions, 
that  these  intuitions  soring  from  faculties  that  corre- 
spond to  objective  r  .  and  that  his  earthly  home  fore- 
shadows an  eternal  home,  and  the  question  of  creed  will 
take  care  of  itself. 

However  painful  may  be  the  fact,  it  cannot  be  denied 
that  the  startling  interrogations  of  the  present  age  mean 
something  more  than  can  be  answered  by  the  old  time 
exhortation.  The  problem  of  human  destiny  is  one  that 
deepens  with  the  evolutions  of  history.  The  hour  has  come 
when  the  great  question  must  be  discussed  in  prose  in- 
stead of  poetry.  The  awakened  spirit  of  doubt  to-day 
confronts  religion  with  the  awful  questions :  "  Is  there  a 
God  ?  "  "  Is  there  a  heaven  ?  "  "  Is  it  true  that  the  earth- 
home  is  but  a  type,  a  working  model  of  4a  home  to  be?'" 

The  answer  to  these  questions  must  be  accompanied  by 
reasons  that  appeal  to  human  logic,  for  in  the  flashing 
revelations  of  modern  science,  the  eye  of  faith  has  seemed 
to  grow  dim. 

And  yet  it  is  but  the  clamor  of  the  immortal  instinct 


HE  A  VEN  OUR  HOME.  423 

itself  that  gives  rise  to  these  questions,  for  the  belief  in 
God  and  immortality  is  as  universal  as  that  in  obligation 
and  human  rights.  Every  human  heart  is  the  theater  of 
this  immortal  instinct.  We  care  not  how  the  heart  may  be 
blinded  with  the  self-deception  of  atheism, — and  atheism  is 
always  and  necessarily  self-deception, — when  the  mask  is 
torn  off  we  find  immortality  written  there. 

We  do  not  mean  that  the  human  heart  has  not  also  been 
the  theater  of  doubt  and  fear.  God  seems  to  have  or- 
dained that  in  every  department  of  life  we  should  find 
the  hand  of  truth  and  grasp  it  in  the  dark.  Into  the  un- 
answering  ear  of  the  ages  man  has  poured  his  wailing  cry. 
Through  the  dark  gorges  he  has  climbed  to  the  star-lit 
height  whence  a  struggling  beam  has  fallen  upon  the  mid- 
night of  human  history. 

He  has  listened  in  the  darkness 

To  the  music  of  the  spheres, 
He  has  solved  night's  awful  secret 

Through  the  alchemy  of  fears. 

From  the  dawn  of  time  he  has  been  trying  to  say  father ; 
and  shall  we  say  that  his  lisping  annuls  the  infinite  argu- 
ment of  instinct?  Who  would  question  the  reality  of  the 
parental  instinct  when  once  he  had  heard  the  unsuccess- 
ful attempt  of  the  little  child  to  speak  the  honored  title  ? 

As  the  child  instinctively  questions  his  father  concern- 
ing the  great  untried  future  of  his  life,  so  humanity  with 
the  same  instinct  pours  its  anxious  yearnings  into  the  ear 
of  the  universal  father. 


4M  OUR  HOME. 

Shall  man  live  beyond  the  grave  ?  was  the  involuntary 
question  of  startled  humanity  in  the  shadow  of  the  first 
death.  That  question  was  asked,  not  of  the  empty  air,  not 
of  the  silent  wood,  not  in  the  forgetfulness  of  self-commun- 
ing curiosity,  but  beneath  the  eternal  stars,  upon  the  wait- 
ing knee  of  faith,  it  was  whispered  into  an  unseen  ear. 
"  4  If  a  man  die,  shall  he  live  again  ?  '  is  a  question  older 
than  Job,  newer  than  the  latest  grave."  Formulated  the- 
ology has  entertained  it  as  the  fundamental  problem,  but 
cannot  settle  it.  Science  hat  grappled  with  it  in  vain. 
Above  the  proudest  flights  of  reason,  above  the  sweep  of 
tube  and  lens,  beyond  the  language  of  the  spectroscope, 
where  human  eye  has  never  rested,  lies  the  mysterious 
realm  through  the  silent  gate  of  death. 

The  instinct  of  immortality  was  not  born  of  any  creed. 
The  church  cannot  claim  it  as  her  offspring.  It  is  the  nec- 
essary outgrowth  of  the  human  organization.  It  was  old 
when  love  for  the  first  time  bent  over  the  couch  of  death 
and  left  its  roses  and  kisses  there.  In  spite  of  conflicting 
creeds  and  dogmas,  the  universal  soul  of  man  rebels 
against  oblivion  with  an  instinct  that  implicates  nature. 
Either  love  and  devotion  and  honor  and  heroism  and 
genius  are  immortal,  or  nature,  at  whose  hands  we  receive 
the  unanswerable  instinct,  is  false.  The  argument  of  in- 
stinct is  in  its  very  nature  conclusive.  It  is  of  the  same 
nature  as  that  of  sense. 

This  is  an  age  peculiarly  sensitive  to  the  charge  of  su- 


HE  A  VEN  OUR  H  OME.  425 

perstition.  Skepticism  is  rife  among  the  masses,  but 
this  fact  is  itself  fraught  with  a  weighty  meaning.  "  His- 
tory repeats  itself  "  is  an  adage,  but  its  vast  significance  is 
understood  and  felt  by  few  souls.  The  life  of  nature  is 
but  the  ceaseless  movement  round  a  spiral,  a  circle  with  an 
ever  increasing  diameter.  Through  doubts  and  questions 
the  world  crept  into  the  light  of  faith.  One  grand  revolu- 
tion of  the  divinely  ordained  process  has  been  completed 
and  doubts  and  questions  now  begin  again,  but  this  time 
farther  from  the  center,  on  a  grander  scale.  • 

These  doubts  and  questionings  will  lead  humanity  to 
prouder  heights  and  more  glorious  beatitudes  when  they 
shall  have  completed  another  revolution.  The  world's 
highest  faith  to-day  began  in  the  doubts  and  questions  of 
brutal  ignorance.  What,  then,  shall  be  the  issue  of  those 
which  were  born  of  the  telescope  and  the  laboratory  ? 
The  proud  champions  of  unbelief  are  doing  a  grand  work. 
Every  triumph  of  Ingersoll  will  in  the  great  revolutions  of 
God's  design  be  found  to  be  a  sermon  for  the  truth.  He 
is  fast  defeating  his  own  ends  by  hastening  the  world  over 
its  second  desert  of  doubt. 

Science  will  struggle  on  with  glass  and  lens  till  it  learns 
that  love  gives  no  lines  in  the  spectroscope,  that  honor  is 
without  physical  properties,  and  conscience  is  unaffected 
by  the  galvanic  current. 

Skeptical  scientists  object  to  the  doctrine  of  immortal- 
ity, because  they  cannot  demonstrate  it  with  their  science. 


4M  OUR  HOME. 

We  cannot  scientifically  demonstrate  that  we  love  our 
friends,  but  we  know  we  love  them.  We  cannot  prove 
that  beauty  exists,  yet  do  we  not  know  that  it  exists?  It 
may  be  that  the  scientist  is  unable  to  prove  the  existence 
of  God,  but  every  spirit  knows  that  God  is.  No  mathe- 
matical formula  can  prove  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  but 
the  unformulated  science  of  intuition  assures  it. 

The  conservatism  of  the  universal  mind  retains  the 
achievements  of  science,  and  will,  by  and  by,  use  them  in 
the  demonstration  of  those  very  truths  which  now  they 
are  used  to  disprove. 

Whether  against  the  will  of  science,  or  in  accordance 
with  it,  her  grandest  revelation  is  that  the  Christian  re- 
ligion is  based  in  the  organic  constitution  of  man. 

Every  element  of  the  soul,  every  faculty  of  the  mind,  has 
its  mate  in  the  form  of  a  cosmical  law.  We  possess  the 
faculty  of  reason,  and  accordingly  there  exists  the  law  of 
causation.  We  possess  an  instinctive  love  of  music,  a  dis- 
tinct and  separate  faculty  of  the  mind,  and  there  exists 
the  law  of  harmony.  Our  mathematical  instinct  finds  its 
counterpart  in  the  eternal  relations  of  time  and  space, 
number  and  quantity.  There  are  just  as  many  faculties 
of  the  mind,  hence  functions  of  the  brain,  as  there  are 
laws  in  the  universe.     No  more,  no  less.     There  is  no  uni- 

raal  principle  that  has  not  its  representative  organ  in  the 
human  brain.  Hence  the  mental  faculties  and  the  natural 
laws  are  mutual  keys.     We  believe  that  the  evolutionists 


HE  A  VEN  0  UR  HOME.  42  7 

have  unnecessarily  weakened  their  own  cause  by  a  false 
definition  of  faculty.  They  would  make  the  primitive  fac- 
ulties of  the  mind  only  so  many  habits.  But  the  question 
arises,  whence  the  first  impulse  that  was  the  necessary 
antecedent  to  the  first  act  of  the  faculty  ?  Acts  cannot 
become  habitual  nor  hereditary  until  they  have  been  per- 
formed at  least  once.  But  it  requires  a  faculty  to  perform 
them  for  the  first  time.  Hence  the  essential  characteristic 
of  the  faculty, — the  power  to  give  impulses  and  the  skill 
to  perform, — must  have  existed  prior  to  the  influences  of 
habit  and  heredity.  The  fact  of  manifestation  through 
the  instrumentality  of  a  cerebral  organ  is  the  one  and 
only  unmistakable  evidence  of  a  primitive  faculty. 

Light  is  doubtless  the  natural  agency  by  which  the 
power  of  vision  has  been  developed.  Yet  light  could  no 
more  originate  that  germ  of  a  distinct  mental  faculty  that 
lies  behind  all  phenomena  of  vision,  and  by  which  we 
translate  that  phenomena,  than  it  could  create  the  acorn 
whose  involved  potency  it  simply  evolves.  The  eye  existed 
potentially  or  the  light  could  not  have  developed  it.  Man 
is  as  he  is  because  of  his  environments,  but  we  cannot  say 
that  man  is  because  of  his  environments.  We  are  at  least 
driven  to  the  assumption  that  matter  held  a  human  po- 
tency independent  of  all  environment.  That  potency  was 
the  germs  of  human  faculties,  God-created  and  God-im- 
planted. The  magic  finger  of  the  sunbeam  touched  them 
and  they  awoke,  and  hammering  upon  the  anvils  of  mat- 


488  OUR  HOME. 

ter  began  to  forge,  from  the  materials  of  their  environ- 
ments, the  only  weapons  they  can  use, — organs.  Thus 
we  see  why  an  organ  is  the  only  infallible  criterion  and 
credential  of  a  faculty.  And  we  see  the  force  of  the  fore- 
going reasoning  when  we  remember  that  the  human  brain 
holds  an  organ  whose  function  is  Divine  worship.  Envi- 
ronments could  not  have  created  that  organ.  They  could 
only  have  developed  it.  Its  "  living  germ  "  lay  back  of 
all  environments,  as  a  divine  prophecy,  and  proof  of  the 
reality  of  that  to  which  it  corresponded. 

Since  faculties  are  as  their  organs,  and  since  organs  are 
formed  by  the  living  principle,  out  of  the  material  of  their 
environments,  it  is  not  wonderful  that  man  should  be  as 
his  environments.  Different  environments  would  doubtless 
have  caused  a  different  mode  of  action  in  the  faculty  of 
Divine  worship.  Indeed,  we  have  a  proof  of  this.  In  the 
heathen  mind  this  faculty  gives  an  instinctive  desire  to 
find  an  objective  in  idols  of  wood  and  stone.  Yet  after  all 
the  essence  of  its  action  is  Divine  worship.  And  there  is 
a  limit  beyond  which  environments  cannot  produce  modi- 
fications. They  may,  however,  thwart  the  effort  of  the 
faculty  to  forge  a  material  organ,  hence  the  significance  of 
extinct  species. 

The  atheist  tells  us  there  is  no  God,  but  science  puts  its 
finger  on  the  God-organ,  an  organ  whose  function  it  is  to 
produce  that  moral  sensation  known  as  reverence  for  God. 
It  produces  this  effect  invariably  in  savage  and  in  civilized 


HEAVEN  OUR  HOME.  429 

man.  Has  nature  thus  erred  ?  Has  she  given  us  a  God- 
organ,  and  no  God  to  meet  its  demand?  A  stomach 
forever  doomed  to  hunger  in  the  presence  of  imaginary 
food ;  lungs  strangling  for  air  in  the  depths  of  a  universal 
vacuum  ;  an  ear  forever  straining  to  catch  the  voice  of  har- 
mony while  nature  shrinks  beneath  the  wing  of  everlasting 
silence  ;  an  eye  forever  gazing  into  the  blackness  of  uni- 
versal night,  while  no  wave  of  ether  touches  with  its  trem- 
bling fingers  the  bosom  of  the  stars. 

What  should  we  say  of  such  inconsistency  in  nature  ? 
And  yet  to  give  us  a  love  of  God,  when  there  is  no  God  to 
love,  would  be  as  base  a  falsehood.  Every  one  believes  in 
the  eternal  consistency  of  nature.  The  atheist  has  but 
transferred  his  worship  from  God  to  nature,  and  no  argu- 
ment can  convince  him  that  she  would  for  once  be  incon- 
sistent, but  he  must  tell  us  why  she  gave  us  a  God-organ 
and  no  God. 

Every  precept  and  every  exhortation  of  the  Christian 
religion  is  the  recognition  of  some  particular  function  of 
our  being,  and  every  prohibition  is  the  recognition  of  its 
liability  to  perverted  or  diseased  action. 

The  ethics  of  the  Christian  religion  is  based  on  the  prin- 
ciple of  right  and  wrong,  and  science  lays  its  finger  on  the 
organ  of  conscientiousness.  Prayer  is  as  much  an  organic 
function  of  the  soul  as  digestion  is  of  the  physical  system, 
and  for  the  same  reason  there  is  a  prayer  organ. 

Will  the  atheist  tell  us  that  nature  has  given  us  a  prayer- 


OUR  HOME. 

organ  and  has  given  us  nothing  to  pray  to  ?  One  has  said 
that  kk  if  there  were  no  God,  it  would  be  necessary  to  in- 
vent one,"  for  the  prayer-organ  demands  a  God  as  much  as 
the  lungs  demand  air. 

Christ  said,  "  Love  thy  neighbor  as  thyself,"  which  was 
only  the  organic  language  of  benevolence.  He  taught 
the  doctrine  of  spirituality,  and  science  points  to  the  organ 
of  spirituality.  And  so  it  is  that  every  teaching  of  Chris- 
tianity responds  to  an  organic  necessity  of  our  being.  The 
decalogue  is  written  on  every  human  brain.  Immortality 
is  an  organic  instinct.  As  the  migratory  bird  Hies  toward 
the  south  guided  by  the  faultless  pilot  instinct,  so  the  soul 
flies  heavenward  by  an  instinct  as  faultless. 

Christianity  is  a  reality  or  our  instincts  are  false.  God 
lives  or  nature  lies.  We  leave  our  earthly  home  but  .to 
find  a  better  and  a  brighter  one,  or  over  all  that  is  there 
hang  the  spectral  lenses  of  deception,  and  falsehood's  ele- 
ments were  blinded  in  the  womb  of  being. 

Whether  heaven  be  a  material  place  or  a  spiritual  condi- 
tion is  a  problem  that  falls  outside  the  pale  of  our  intui- 
tions. For  aught  we  can  know,  it  may  be  the  grand  center 
of  centers  around  which  revolve  in  eternal  gyrations  the 
unmeasured  systems.  Or  it  may  be  that  it  exists  inde- 
pendently of  space,  that  its  place  is  wholly  spiritual,  and 
that  just  under  the  thin  veil  of  materiality  around  us, 
above  us  and  beneath  us  lies  the  ineffable  realm  of  the 
nal. 


HE  A  VEN  0  UR  HOME.  43 1 

Whatever  may  be  the  essence  of  heaven,  we  may  rest 
assured  that  it  will  afford  the  opportunities  and  conditions 
of  eternal  soul  growth.  The  buds  that  on  earth  have 
fallen  before  their  time  shall  blossom  there  in  fadeless 
beauty.  Genius  shall  exhibit  its  divine  allegiance,  and 
love  shall  be  crowned  the  eternal  queen. 

There  comes  a  time  to  the  reverent  soul  when  the  veil 
is  lifted,  and  in  the  awful  hush  of  that  moment  we  call 
death,  when  the  fetters  are  falling  from  the  spirit's  limbs, 
amid  strains  of  music  soft  as  the  rustle  of  wings,  it  is  per- 
mitted to  look  upon  the  unveiled  splendor.  And  often, 
very  often,  it  beckons  to  us  and  whispers  with  its  latest 
breath,  " I  hear  them  now"  always  laying  peculiar  stress 
upon  the  word  "  now,"  which  indicates  that  through  the 
presence  of  this  divine  instinct  it  had  been  listening.  On 
how  many  a  dying  couch  have  the  sacred  words,  "The 
pure  in  heart  shall  see  God,"  found  their  last  and  best  veri- 
fication ! 

But  science  cannot  reproduce  the  vision  of  the  dying. 
Their  own  faint  whispers  cannot  portray  it.  We  must  go 
down  to  the  dark  water.  The  details  of  the  passage  are 
known  only  to  those  who  embark  in  the  unseen  ship.  We 
cannot  tell  how,  nor  when,  nor  where,  nor  amid  what  sights 
and  sounds  we  shall  enter  the  unseen  realm.  We  only 
know  that  while  beyond  the  chill  flood  silence  reigneth  and 

No  sound  of  gently  dipping  oar 
Hints  to  us  of  the  other  shore, 


OUR  HOME. 

there  is  still  the  voice  of  a  <livine  fact  within  that  whis- 
pers, 4i  I  1."  The  spirit  lays  its  listening  tar  against 
the  great  heart  of  being,  and  learns  an  awful  secret  that  it 
not  tell.  A  secret,  at  the  sound  of  which  it  leaps 
triumphant  from  the  arms  of  pain,  flame-wreathed  and 
singing,  thorn-crowned  and  rejoicing. 

"  It  must  be  so:    Plato,  thou  reasonest  well, 
Else  whence  this  pleasing  hope,  this  fond  dl 
This  longing  after  Immortal 
Or  whence  this  secret  dread  and  inward  horror 
Of  falling  into  naaghJ  F     Why  shrinks  the  soul 
Back  on  itself,  I  tion? 

Tisthedr.  t  >tirs  within  at; 

heaven  itself  that  points  out  an  hereafter 
And  intimates  eternity  to  man." 


